Crash and Burn
by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: Dean always hated flying. But after Sam gets injured on a hunt, Dean is forced to fly out of New York alone. It shouldn't be a big deal, right? Aside from the fact that thirty minutes into the flight, the engines decide to give out. The crash that follows leaves Dean in a coma with a nasty prognosis, one that Sam is unable to simply stitch up. Eventual amnesia fic.
1. Chapter 1

**First things first, this story takes place during season twelve, but just chronology wise. Let's say that Mary didn't come back, there's no Lucifer or Kelly debacle, Sam wasn't shot by the BMOL, and the Brits were trying to be decent people and find a way that they could all help each other out nicely. That's where this story takes place.**

 **I've got a few chapters done already (fingers crossed for one per week), and if you could take a second to review to let me know if this story is interesting or not, that would be great :) Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!**

 **I don't own Supernatural and I edited the cover image, which I don't own the original of either.**

* * *

 _November 9, 6:00pm_

Dean took the drive back to the bunker a bit slower than he normally would. There was less music and less muttering about incompetent drivers and less tires bouncing into potholes. Conversely, there were more half glances towards Sam, whose head was leaned up against the window. His torso was rigid and upright, leaving his neck being the only twisted part, and Dean knew that it would be sore later. Still, it must have been better than twisting the rest of his chest.

"You're staring again," Sam commented as Dean's eyes quickly went back to the road. The younger man's eyes were closed, and there was a slight smirk on his lips.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Dean replied simply, and shrugged.

"Mhm." There was nothing else said for a few more minutes until Dean's driving slowed down even more. "We there?"

"Yep, bunker sweet bunker," Dean nodded, turning the Impala into the bunker's garage and parking it before shutting it off.

"Good. I need to get this…hospital stink off me," Sam said, glad the vehicle had stopped, and reached for the handle.

Dean was faster however, getting out of the car and opening Sam's door before he could twist fully to get it open. "Slow down there, Speedy Gonzales. Showers can wait," he reminded

"Dean, I'm fine, seriously," Sam fought back, trying to bite back a wince as he got up and out of the car. He didn't try hiding it behind a smile, Dean knew how crappy he was feeling. The day passed out in the car proved as much.

Of course, the older brother wasn't expecting too much out of the younger one, considering they had just gotten out of the hospital after staying there for three whole nights. It had been a rare, multi-day trip to the stark white and antiseptic drenched place that both of them hated more than they probably should have.

"As soon as those pain meds wear off, we'll see. Shower, food, meds, bed," Dean nodded, leaving no place for an argument.

They both walked slowly back inside the bunker, Sam's face a shade paler by the time they reached the library. His breathing was a bit more labored, considering the extensive work that had been done on his literal entire chest area.

Dean had made a slight mental note that werewolf cases were to be avoided and sent to someone else if possible for the next few months. Less than a year after the last…bad one, there had been another. Another crazy werewolf with a gun, another bullet in Sam's chest, and another too close call that Dean would rather not think about extensively.

"Call life alert if you slip," Dean quirked a smile at Sam, who was making his way down to his room.

"Call a fireman if you burn down the kitchen," came the slightly slow reply. Still, Dean kept the smile on his face as he went into the kitchen to make something Sam would take with his meds. He was beat, of course, and could use a shower himself to get off the overly clean, starchy smell. But food came first, so Sam could take his meds and go to sleep hopefully without incident.

He made the food robotically, just glad for a task to get his mind off of everything else that had recently transpired. By the time it was done and Dean made his way back into Sam's room, he was already sitting up in bed with his laptop on. He was in grey sweatpants and a light shirt, his go to when he wasn't feeling up to much else, and his hair was still wet.

Dean shot him a _'really'?_ look, a bit displeased and annoyed as he carried in the tray of food and swapped it out with the laptop, which Sam replied to with a bitchface of his own.

"No research. Food, meds, bed," Dean instructed.

"First, it was emails," Sam mentioned, shaking his head a bit at Dean's continued 'feel better faster' lists. "And, kind of important ones too." He gestured with the fork towards the laptop.

Dean pulled up Sam's desk chair and kicked his feet up on Sam's bed, reading through the email. It was from Mick Davies, who was reminding them about the meeting with the other British Men of Letters in London in four days. Sam had agreed on going, and Dean had been thinking about it because…flying. It had never been his thing, and it would never be his thing. But he didn't trust the Brits and certainly didn't want Sam alone on their home turf, so he would end up going one way or another.

"And?" Dean prompted, finishing reading through the lengthy reminder.

"Click up on the next one," Sam instructed, taking another bite as he waited for Dean to finish reading. "I told him we probably couldn't make it, and he said that this was literally the only time that everyone could meet. Apparently they're bringing in the…big guys to talk through this attempted team up with us and a few other hunters. It's happening, and they need us to be there," he paraphrased.

"Well, you're not going," Dean answered quickly, looking over the computer at his brother. Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean held up a hand. "You were shot twice in the chest just a few days ago. Get some rest, binge some shows, I got this one. I can handle a merger with a bunch of fancy suits."

"I was fine on the drive here, which takes longer than a flight out, and you and flying, don't…really mix."

"You half slept, half sat in pain the entire way over," Dean reminded. "And I've gotten better with flying," he added defensively.

That time, Sam hit him with the ' _really?'_ look. "You can count how many times you've been flying on one hand, Dean."

"Exactly," Dean raised a hand and closed the laptop. "New experiences, get above five and everything. But you're not going. And we're not leaving the fate of the United States' hunters as we know them up to some yahoos that may or may not have been keyed into the apocalypse. I'm going, Sam, no arguing."

It took a few moments, but Sam eventually went to sigh, winced, and finally nodded. "You do know you have to leave tomorrow then?"

Tomorrow? Right, of course, travel took time, and he should probably drive east first to have the shortest flight time possible. Maybe he'd head to New York…or some other east coast city. Gosh, he had to start planning. And he would have to pack and how the hell would he be getting any of his weapons with him? "Course I do," he replied matter o' factly.

Sam let out a light scoff and shook his head.

"It'll be fine, Sam," Dean shook his head back and got up, leaving the laptop sitting on the chair. "Get some shut eye." He picked up the empty plate and tapped out two pills, handing them to Sam with a glass of water, both of which he took.

It was obvious from the lack of response that Sam didn't like Dean going off alone as much as Dean liked the idea of Sam going off alone. There was a quiet "night" as Dean shut off the light to the room and left the door cracked open.

It was so Dean could hear in case Sam needed something, but also so that there wasn't a solid divide between them after the past few days. The days which Dean shoved out of his head and down the list of things to think about. He had to clean up the kitchen, shower, pack a bit, and figure out how to book a flight.

* * *

 _November 9, 11:00pm_

The first three were accomplished rather easily, and Dean's hair was still damp as he settled into one of the chairs in the library and began looking at flights. From New York to London, it took around seven hours to fly. Seven hours in a pressurized capsule thousands of feet above the ground, he could do it, sure. Dean shook his head again and booked the first direct flight closest to the Brit's location as he could find. There was no sense in thinking about it more than he had to.

Driving, which was something he preferred any day of the week, would take around a day in itself, minus pit stops and a night at a motel. Two days of travel, one…hopefully random day in London, a meeting the next, and home on the first red-eye out. Then a drive back. In total, he was looking at nearly a week of being gone. Which was nearly a week in which Sam would be by himself, still on the mend…

Dean didn't even think twice before pulling out his phone and calling Cas. He sat there for a few rings, muttering that the angel had better freaking pick up, before the line connected.

"Hello?" came the gravely voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Cas, you got a sec?"

There was some shifting on the other end of the line. "Dean? Of course, how's Sam?"

"Snug as a bug in a rug," Dean smirked absently.

"I don't…" Cas trailed off and Dean could practically picture the angel trying to figure out how a bug could be snug while inside of a rug.

"It's a saying-you know, never mind. We're both in the bunker, he's all doped up," Dean exaggerated, "everything's good."

"Well, that is good to hear. I was getting worried."

"Yeah," he replied quietly. "I woulda called earlier, but we had to get back, and you know, but listen, I've got a favor to ask, you busy for the next week or so?"

"Not…particularly. I was tracking a demon, but another hunter took care of it. I was on my way back. Why?"

"I've got this…meeting with the Brits," gosh, even saying the idea out loud sounded awful, "but it's on their home turf. Some…amicable way we can all work together or something. Sam can't go, and it would help if someone were here to watch out for him and keep an eye on the bunker."

There was more rustling, as he guessed at Cas nodding. "Of course, Dean. I can make it there later tomorrow."

Later tomorrow, probably after Dean had left, so…a few hours of leaving Sam alone. That should be fine…it would have to be, anyways. "Yeah, that works," was his short reply.

"I'll leave tonight. Driving is still…less preferable to flying," Cas commented, which elicited a slight scoff on Dean's part.

"Whatever you say," he nodded although no one could see. "And Cas? Thanks, sorry about the short notice."

"It is no problem, Dean," the angel assured. "We will keep in contact."

"Yep. Sounds good. Night, Cas." With that, Dean ended the call and put the phone next to the laptop. He ran a hand through his hair and checked the time, figuring that he should get a decent amount of sleep, given he wouldn't be sleeping much over the next few days.

With the flight booked, things packed, and nerves more or less on edge, Dean shut the laptop and headed off to try and get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Sunday! I'm trying to keep updates to weekly on weekends, but we'll see once school gets started. Thank you all so much for the support so far! This story takes a few chapters of set up, but stick with me and you'll see what's in store ;) Thanks again, have a good rest of your day!**

 **Still don** **'t own Supernatural.**

* * *

 _November 10, 8:30am_

"Dude, seriously?"

"Yes, Sam, seriously."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because-" Dean cut himself off, closing the door to the car after he had thrown his carry on in the back seat, "no way in hell am I leaving her in an airport parking lot in New York for a few days. No way."

He had made the executive decision to not take Baby with him to the airport, which meant no cassette tape deck for music and no familiar car, but it was better than having her be broken into or scratched up or have something else preventable happen.

"Are you absolutely positive? I'm fine with other cars."

Dean looked up at Sam and shook his head. "Yeah, you're fine with other cars, but you're not driving in your condition, so it doesn't matter. I'm taking a back-up, end of story," Dean said, his tone conveying that the argument was closed.

He began walking back into the bunker from the garage, but not so fast that Sam couldn't walk beside him comfortably.

"Okay, if you won't take the Impala, at least take this," Sam said when they got back to the map room. He picked up Dean's phone from the table and a set of earbuds and passed them over.

"Yeah, I was planning on taking my phone," Dean nodded slowly, not seeing what he was getting at.

Sam rolled his eyes and smirked. "And music. I loaded a bunch of songs I could find on there for you to listen to."

He didn't say that it was to combat the flying anxiety, since humming was what had calmed him down last time. He didn't say that it was to make the whole experience easier and to make up for his own absence in it. But both of those sentiments were reflected in the otherwise simple sounding explanation.

"I mean, no cassette tapes, and I know how you hate all the new music on the radio," he halfheartedly explained, which was a true statement in itself.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, but he quirked his brother an appreciative smile anyways and slipped the items into his jacket pockets. He had holy water, salt, and some other small necessities with him, but he couldn't bring any of the big guns with him. He was just hoping that there were no demons planning on derailing the flight this time.

Dean rolled up his sleeve to check his watch and nodded. "Should probably hit the road, I hear check in takes a while. And traffic. This sounds like fun already," Dean muttered.

Sam only nodded. "Text me when you're at the airport and when you land," Sam reminded, as if Dean had forgotten the first five times he had told him.

"Will do. Flight 523, from New York to London, leaves at six in the afternoon," Dean informed. "I put it on a little sticky note by the computer in case your lazy brain forgets," he added with a smirk. "And Cas texted, said he should be here in six hours or so. You good?" Dean asked, eyes leveling with Sam.

"I can handle myself for six hours, Dean, I'm not doing much."

Dean nodded back and sighed. "Well alright then. I guess I'll see you in a few days." Normally, there would have been a quick send off hug or something, but given Sam's injury, he opted to put a hand on his shoulder and smile before he dropped it and turned to leave.

"Watch yourself," Sam added.

"Always do, Sammy, it's just a pressurized flying tube, no big deal," Dean brushed off, sending him another look before he started the walk back down to the garage.

* * *

Dean was used to taking back roads, so the beginning half of his drive wasn't too bad. He ended up turning on the radio for an hour or so to see what he could get, and sure, some of the music was decent, but it wasn't the same. He eventually gave up and put his phone in the cup holder, playing some of the tunes that Sam had gratefully downloaded.

At his first pit stop six hours later, he texted to make sure Sam was okay, and after being assured that he was and the car again had gas, Dean was back on the lonely road. It wasn't that he wasn't used to it, it was just…strange, he so often travelled with Sam or Cas that having the passenger seat empty was strange.

Then again, Sam being a passenger the last two times hadn't exactly been easy, it had taken Dean hours to get the blood off the seats…

And he cranked the music up again. He didn't need to think about that any more, Sam was fine, he was always fine, he would always be fine as long as Dean could make sure of it. He completed the next six hour leg with that mentality in mind.

* * *

 _November 10, 11:30pm_

"Not interrupting any beauty sleep am I?" Dean asked once he had stopped at a motel for the night, and kicked his boots up onto the bed.

"Dude, it's only eleven, I'm not a kid anymore," Sam shot back, but Dean could hear the smile in his voice.

"I told Cas to put you to bed by ten."

There was some rustling on the other end of the line, and a slightly more gravely voice replied, "you did no such thing when we last talked…or texted, I am fairly certain nothing was said about bed times."

"Just no staying up into the morning painting fingernails and braiding Sam's hair."

"I don't own any…Sam do you own any nail polish?"

Dean let out an audible laugh, able to picture the angel's confused face as he looked to his brother, who was undoubtedly smiling and faintly laughing as much as he could.

"Got it Dean, quit mother henning and get some sleep."

"I'm not mother henning," Dean shot back, trying his best to sound offended. "You're the one telling me to go to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah, watch your drive," Sam said, sighing, and Dean could guess he was rolling his eyes along with it.

"Will do, I'll text when I get there. You two hold down the fort, no kitchen experiments," Dean reminded with mild seriousness.

"I assure you, we will be doing no kitchen experiments," Cas added, in complete seriousness.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Alright, I'll text, night." Similar sentiments were exchanged, and Dean shut the phone off, leaving it on the nightstand next to the bed.

Of course, his eyes drifted to the other bed closer to the bathroom, which was empty. The motel didn't have any single beds for some reason. And the empty bed only served to remind Dean of more what ifs…

He shut off the light, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes, but the empty bed kept mocking him, even though he had just gotten off the phone with his brother.

It was going to be a long few days.

* * *

In the end, Dean drove the last nine or so hours going on two hours of sleep, which was far from desirable. However, being stuck in New York traffic did make him appreciate the open roads much more. Even just an hour spent in wall to wall cars getting to the airport was enough to have him mentally and sometimes physically yelling at the idiots around him.

By the time he got out of the car and slung his bag over his shoulder, he was thoroughly done with the day. And he hadn't even gotten through security or to the terminal yet. Or hell, even inside the airport. And it was raining. He probably should have expected it from New York, but that didn't mean that it wasn't annoying.

He did a quick check to make sure the holy water and salt were still in the bag, which they were. The Brits would have weapons and they boasted about London being safe, so he probably wouldn't need them, but probably was still a maybe. Dean carefully rolled up the headphones and stuck them in his jacket pocket, even though they would probably get all tangled up anyways.

And he still had four hours before his flight was supposed to leave.

Dean ran a hand over his face. "This meeting had better be worth it," he muttered as he locked up the car and made his way into the airport.

* * *

 **So I normally reply to reviews through PMs and then guest ones at the end of the chapter. If you don** **'t like it, just let me know, and thanks for the feedback!**

 **Guest: Awh thanks, hope you enjoyed reading it! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry about the week late update, I'll be back to normal this coming week! With school starting and an AP English class, I needed more time to prepare essays and such. That said, we're moving this story right along, so thanks for sticking along for the ride ;) *reviews are always appreciated if anyone has a minute*. I've had some people ask about if we'll get a prequel of sorts-yes, there will be a few flashbacks in this story to the nasty werewolf hunt, so stay tuned!**

 **Still don't own Supernatural**

* * *

Truth be told, Dean grumbled most of the way through the airport. He'd never admit it to Sam, of course, but there was nothing fun about taking off his shoes and and all the metal on him and standing and waiting in lines…it seemed to go on and on. Then he had to sit down with his bag and re-lace his boots, which was just another annoyance to add to the list. He finally made his way over to the terminal, and with two hours to spare, grabbed an overpriced coffee from the shop inside and picked out a seat by the window of his terminal.

The rain hadn't let up any, but it was New York, and pretty much always rained, at least Dean thought so anyways. It had been years since he'd been to the big city itself and not any of the smaller provinces inside the state for a case. Surprise, surprise, werewolf packs tended to stay away from high rises and bustling cities if they could help it.

Dean sat in the terminal for a solid hour and drank his coffee, which didn't help with the jitteriness, and his leg was practically vibrating as he bounced it up and down. "Come on," he muttered and looked at his watch before he leaned his head back and sighed. Half an hour. Could time possibly move any slower?

Dean eventually decided that his coffee cup needed throwing away, which gave him something to do, and he stole a glance at the board listing all his flights. "You have got to be freaking kidding me," he muttered, shoulders physically crumpling a bit at the sight.

Next to the listing for flight 523 was a red notice 'delayed one hour' spread out on the board, as was the same with many of the other flights. Dean set his jaw and shook his head before he made his way back over to the window and plopped into his seat. He got busy calling Sam before he could think any more on the matter.

"Dean," Sam greeted after a few rings. He still sounded a bit winded, but there was a some of relief in his voice. "What's up? Getting ready to board?"

"Opposite actually," Dean muttered and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "They've got the flight and a whole bunch of hours delayed for an hour, probably because of weather or something, but I'm stuck here."

"Weather?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, it's raining pretty good. But it is New York after all, right?"

"I…I guess. But man, flights get delayed all the time for weather, it's no big deal." There was no hint of mocking in the tone, it was simply an assurance from a thousand or so miles away.

Because Dean didn't like flying, period. He had no control, it was simple. In the car, he always had some form of control over what was happening. Usually in hunts, the same was true. With flying, every single aspect of the trip was up to someone else besides himself.

So yeah, a simple hour delay due to weather was enough to set his leg bouncing up and down to no avail.

"I know, I know," Dean grumbled, but quirked a small smirk at the masked assurance. "Just calling to let you know. We should get up on time, hopefully. I'll text you from the air. But if they try keeping me in the airport overnight, I'm hauling ass back to Kansas," he threatened the airport itself.

Sam chuckled a bit on the other end of the line, which turned into some light coughing and had Dean's smirk fading from his face. "How about you? Cas isn't working you too hard, I hope."

"He went out to pick up some food, actually. We forgot to do a run before we left, he should be back soon," Sam said simply.

"And?" Dean prompted.

"And what? That's a collective we, Dean, _we_ forgot to get food, it's on both of us."

"You know what I mean," Dean muttered back and shook his head.

Sam took another moment to reply, but Dean could basically hear him vaguely nodding along. "Yeah, I'm fine. Not exactly all peachy, but managing. Meds are working, you know how it goes."

And damn right Dean knew, knew all too well in fact. "Alright, keep me posted, I should get going before people worry I've got a hot girlfriend on the other end of the line," he joked lightly, just happy to hear that Sam was okay for the time being, plane delay or not.

"Whatever," Sam muttered back, but Dean could hear the smile in it.

"I mean, you've got the hair for it, just get a pink scrunchy and-"

"Alright, alright, I get the picture!" Sam protested, making Dean chuckle and shake his head in response. "Have a safe flight, text when you get up."

"Sure honey, will do," Dean continued, picturing the bitchface on the other end of the line. "Tell Cas I said hey, you two stay out of trouble."

"Will do," Sam promised. The two of them waited another moment before disconnecting the phone, leaving Dean once again alone in the airport, surrounded by rain and the noise of tens of other people, all waiting for their late plane to arrive.

* * *

 _November 11, 7:12pm_

The plane finally pulled into the terminal, making Dean and the rest of the passengers sigh a bit with relief and annoyance. It took them another fifteen minutes to get everything re-set up and soon enough Dean was handing his ticket over, getting it scanned, and listening to his footsteps as they echoed along the metal walkway.

"17D," the cheery flight attendant directed, and pointed down a few rows. "Window seat, lucky you," she sent him a smirk, which Dean returned and carried onto his seat.

He hadn't even realized he'd even gotten a window seat, he'd been too tired and annoyed. He kept his phone and headphones in his pocket and tossed the bag into the overhead compartment, only a _little_ annoyed that he wouldn't be able to get it quickly if needed. Annoying seemed to be the one word so far that was summing up his trip.

It took another few minutes for the plane to fill up and things to be stowed away. A pretty blonde woman was in the seat next to him, and the two exchanged smiles before a man sat down next to her and the two of them began talking.

Talking, right, there was a meeting coming up. Dean would have to talk at that meeting, about what he wasn't quite sure. He should probably text Sam to see if he had any information, and his fingers hovered over the phone before a notification came over the loudspeakers.

 _"We're experiencing a bit of engine difficulty right now,"_ which elicited an immediate groan from the passengers, _"but they're bringing the part to the tarmac and we should be up within half an hour. We will keep you posted, thank you for your cooperation,"_ and the voice faded out with a click.

So, engine problems and rain? Oh yeah, this was a great trip so far. Could he still get out and hightail it back to the bunker? The meeting wasn't that important, but Sam getting better was. Then again, the fate of the entire North American hunter…group could be hanging in the balance…

Dean shifted in his seat and pulled out his headphones and set the music to shuffle.

But what would he say? He was just one guy in a room full of suits that probably wanted to completely take control of their operations in the states, which would never fly. Had the Brits ever stopped an apocalypse, let alone two? Dean smirked a bit, doubting the fact that they had even though he had no real idea.

'Hey, thanks for the help. We could use some organization, sure, maybe some common phone lines, but nobody to take charge. Why? None of us care for that too much.' It could be put simply enough, but Dean knew it wouldn't get the point across.

Sam would definitely have been helpful on the trip. He was better at the whole…organizational stuff, thinking things out with a point and backing it up with evidence. The kid had been going to law school for a reason, after all. He could always text Sam.

Dean flicked the phone on and saw the time, 7:57 reflected on the screen along with his music choice and no new messages. He eventually decided against it, since they'd be in the air soon and he could ask from there, he only talked to Sam a few hours ago.

 _"Thank you for your patience, we'll be leaving the terminal in a few minutes. We can expect a bit of turbulence given the weather, but it is nothing to worry about, and if you could all fasten your seat belts, we'll get going."_

Dean was all too happy to fasten his seatbelt, but was a bit annoyed when the attendant told him to turn off his phone until they were in the air. AC/DC faded as Dean turned down the volume and looped the headphones around the device and shoved it in his pocket. He turned to the window, fist to his lips as he looked out.

It was dark now and drops of rain covered the small window. It didn't take more than a few minutes for the plane to taxi back, turn, and begin the twisting journey down the runway. Dean just wished they'd freaking get on with it already, the sooner they were up in the air the sooner he could get to London and the sooner he could get back to the Bunker.

Eventually the plane did reach the runway, where they practically waited in a line, which Dean would have normally found a bit funny. But soon enough they were off, the engines revving as the wheels began to go forward. Dean's grip on the armrests tightened as he watched the airport begin to pass by faster.

The plane shuddered a few times and he closed his eyes for a moment, but after that, there was a feeling of weightlessness as the plane left the ground and began to climb.

Dean didn't release his grip on the armrests for a solid few minutes after that, until they had somewhat stabilized, but were still climbing in altitude. It was still raining as they were going up, and they were advised that the turbulence they were facing was a bit heavy, but not more than the captains could capably handle.

Sure, that did wonders for the 'what if' part of Dean's brain that had become increasingly annoying over the years. Just like what if the last hunt had gone differently? Good or bad, but after so many years of being on the job, the bad side tended to want to show itself more. What if they hadn't gotten to the Impala in time…? What if-

And just like that, flight attendant or not, Dean was shoving the headphones back in his ears to turn the music back on, because anything was better than sitting in a pressurized, flying capsule during a storm and thinking about what he would have done if his brother had died…again.

Three songs cycled over and he was tempted to hum along, but something told him that the lady in the next seat over may not appreciate it all that much. The fourth song was starting, and he was still staring out the window before said woman gently tapped him on the shoulder.

Dean turned, confused, and she motioned for him to pull his headphones off. He did, and in the absence of music, he could again hear the captain's voice.

 _"-unprecedented winds coinciding with the storm are not faring well with our engine fix. I am sorry to say but for everyone's safety, we've been advised to return to the terminal and wait for it to clear up. Please keep your seat belts on and phones off."_

The voice clicked off again and there was an eerie silence on the plane before the seatbelt light came on again. Dean, of course, hadn't taken his off.

"So, there's no problem, right, just precaution?" he asked the woman, who seemed a bit confused and worried about the announcement as well.

"I guess. I mean, hopefully, we've only been fifteen minutes. We'll probably have to find a hotel though, if there won't be any more flights out," the woman replied with a slight nod before she turned to the man sitting next to her.

The plane continued to shake as rain pelted the windows and they gradually began to turn back to land. Dean checked the time to see just how long they had been up, 8:22pm.

As his phone screen once again faded to black, the lights in the plane began to falter. Something about the situation made Dean wary that the cause was a ghost, and as the plane began to descend at a steeper rate, it almost made him with the cause was one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, just a few notes before we get started. New York is an hour ahead of Kansas, so hopefully the timestamps make sense. I also know next to nothing about place crashes, so apologies for any mistakes, they're all mine. That's it, thanks for reading!**

 **I own a few seasons of Supernatural on DVD but not the show itself, bummer.**

* * *

 _Lebanon, Kansas 6:30pm_

"How many types of pasta did you get?" Sam asked as he pulled out the third, he was pretty sure it was the third, box of dried macaroni out of the bag that Cas had brought back to the bunker.

"A few. The list just said 'pasta', it wasn't very specific. But from my understanding, it is a relatively easy food to prepare, so I got plenty," Cas explained simply with a slight head tilt, and put some of the items in the fridge.

"I can see," Sam smirked and pulled out a fourth box, only mildly relieved that there wasn't a fifth hiding somewhere. He slowly made his way over to the cupboard and reached up to put them away with a slight wince.

There was a beat before the question Sam knew was coming. "How are you, Sam?" the angel asked.

Sam finished putting the pasta away before he turned back and shrugged a little. "Been better…been worse. You know the drill."

Cas nodded slowly, as if he were carefully deciding if Sam was lying or not. "I am familiar with it, yes. I only wish that I could help more."

Sam gingerly leaned up against the counter and shook his head. There was a time when Cas could heal any wound with just the touch of his finger. And while it'd be nice now, he wasn't sure how much Cas could do, and he definitely didn't want to drain the angel. It wasn't his fault. "Just you being here and grabbing food is enough, Cas. It's all that Dean and I could ask for," he smiled assuringly.

"Do you know if he is on the plane yet?" Cas asked curiously, the notes in Sam's voice seeming to hint that he had talked to his brother.

"Not quite yet. They had some sort of…storm engine delay thing," Sam shrugged.

"And Dean is enjoying waiting I'm sure," Cas added sarcastically.

"Oh yeah. But, it's common stuff, he'll be over there in no time. He said he'd text when he got up, so I'll keep my phone on." Both men nodded and lapsed into a silence for a moment before Sam drummed his fingers on the counter. "Seeing as we have a ton of pasta now, how about some of that and some Netflix?" the hunter suggested. Normally he'd be researching another hunt, but it was getting late and he was already tired. With Dean gone, he'd have to send it over to someone else anyways.

Cas nodded in accordance with the idea. "That sounds like a good plan. I doubt it will be as good as the burgers Dean makes-"

"You heard about that?" Sam asked quickly with a smirk on his face.

"Dean is quite proud of his cooking abilities when he gets to talking," Cas affirmed, with a bit of a smile too.

"He's got a reason to be, which you will never repeat back to him," Sam said, half serious, and half joking.

"Of course," Cas assured, and turned back to get out a box of pasta. Sam waited for a few more moments before he let go of the counter to see if he could help, or at least supervise. Because how many meals did angels tend to make? Sam could guess that it wasn't many.

* * *

 _New York 8:25pm_

The plane had been descending for a solid few minutes before the flight attendants started advising everyone to get their life vest gear on. Well, descending and advising were more like euphemisms in Dean's mind.

What little he could see from outside the plane was made up of rain and darkness, along with the feeling of falling much too fast. And the attendants were yelling, calmly yelling if that was a thing, for everyone to get their gear on because apparently, the announcement system had failed. Or something. Which was all one big heaping pile of wonderful.

Dean was too busy reaching under his seat to fiddle with the life jacket to remember to text Sam. The phone went into his pocket, and the jacket went over his head and clipped together. He had actually paid attention to the emergency video thing at the beginning. He just wanted to be prepared in case something should happen, because in his line of work, things did happen.

The man and woman next to him were speaking quickly to each other in hushed tones and the whole plane had been reduced to some sort of almost silent murmuring amongst each other.

Dean blew out a breath and leaned his head back in the seat. Everything was shaking as the plane kept dropping. But the crew knew how to handle stuff like this, right? That was their job, that was what they trained for, everything would be fine-

He turned his gaze back towards the window just in time to see what looked like a ball of orange light erupt and then simmer down again. Coinciding with that, the plane jarred violently and he was thrown against his seatbelt. The plane began to dip down to the left and Dean got substantially closer to the ground as it did so.

"What was that?" the woman said, a bit less hushed as she looked around panicked.

"Don't quote me, but I think the engine. Or an engine, but I hope not," Dean replied, and looked to her before he looked back to the window. But sure enough, what little he could see of the engine was licked in flames that were only somewhat being dampened by the wind and rain.

The second engine went only mere seconds later, sending another shockwave through the plane, even bigger than the first. After that, the whole mechanical beast tipped and went into sort of a dead fall, or at least that was what it felt like.

Dean was gripping the armrests so hard he would have been afraid they'd break if he hadn't been more scared of everything else first. And scared wasn't a word that he used lightly. But when the only thing going through his head was _oh crap, we just lost both of our engines on one side,_ rational thinking tended to give way a bit. Where was Chuck when you needed him?

It would have been better if he could at least see what was going on beyond the window, but it was too dark and stormy to see anything. They were just falling at a fairly severe angle while tipped to one side during a storm, that was all, he'd been through worse, it would be fine, it always was…it was like a mantra he repeated in his head.

He was repeating it so much, in fact, that it took him a few moments to realize that the attendants were giving orders again, the word 'brace!' over and over and over. How close were they to the water?

Dean tried to shut his mind up, closed his eyes, and went to duck his head behind the seat, keeping his hands firmly on the armrests. His phone was still in his pocket, and for a split second, his eyes snapped open. He had to text Sam, if a signal could still get out. He had to know what was going on and that they'd deal and he'd be okay. He had to let him know-

He wasn't quite sure which part of the plane hit the dark water first. All Dean knew was that it hit on his side of the plane and sent his head towards the window in a literal crack of pain.

He had to…he had to…what did he have to do?

Soon, Dean's vision was as dark as the waters the plane was starting to disappear into.

* * *

 _Lebanon, Kansas 7:32pm_

It had, in fact, taken two boxes of pasta in order to get the 'simple' meal done right. The first time, they had gotten to talking and the noodles had turned to mush. The second time, they were both much more careful with them and they turned out just fine. A bit of sauce and drinks later, and they were on their way to Sam's room.

"Dean will never know that we messed up pasta, got it?" Sam asked as he flicked the lights on and left the plate of food on his bedside table.

"He would find it quite hilarious, but it would be at our expense, I understand," Cas nodded, and took the remote as Sam handed it to him.

"Find something on Netflix, just no shows about chicks and prison."

"It was intriguing, although I never did finish it," Cas mentioned with a slight shrug before he turned on the television and sat down in one of the chairs in Sam's room.

"Still a no," Sam said, with a sense of finality, and made his way into the bathroom where he got out the pill bottles from the cabinet.

He could hear the television in the other room on the news channel, which was what Sam had preset it to always come up with. They lived in a bunker, but they didn't live in a bubble.

He turned on the water and downed the few pills he took before eating and grabbed the other two to put with the food. When Sam got out of the bathroom, Cas was still watching the news.

"You forget how to get to Netflix?" Sam asked, looking at the angel for a moment.

Cas simply shook his head. "What was Dean's plane number?"

The question was quiet and there was a knot of worry in his forehead. Sam put the pills on the plate and turned to the television, which was on commercial. "Um…523, I think. Here, it's on a post it," he went over to the desk and grabbed the slip of paper, grateful that Dean had written down the information beforehand. "Should I ask why?"

The silence in the room was getting to him, as was Cas' tone and the fact that the news was on with a flight… "Cas?" It was quiet and Sam was pretty sure the doctor had mentioned staying away from stressful situations so soon after being shot, but his heart was racing.

He slowly sat down on the edge of the bed as the commercials ended and the news came back on with an 'alert' title.

The headline came up next, and Sam half expected to pass out on the spot as his heart seemed to drop into his chest. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be happening, they both said it would be alright…

 _"We've just gotten word about this developing story in New York. While experiencing some bad weather and engine difficulties, Flight 523, carrying four hundred two people from New York to London, went down about eighty miles off the coast. Ships and rescue planes have been deployed to the area, as the plane's beacon was still working, but given the weather, they're not sure how long the rescue will take."_

They showed a few pictures of the area and what the storm looked like but Sam just sat there, half openmouthed, staring at the screen. "Cas, can…can you tell anything?"

It was a profound bond, right? Maybe he could tell if something had happened to Dean?

Cas looked like he tried but he eventually shook his head, eyes fixed on the screen.

 _"As of right now, there is no way to tell if there are any survivors."_

Sam was up and crossing the room before the reporter could say anything else. Dean had to be alive, he had to be. There was no way in hell he would be killed because of a plane crash. It wouldn't happen.

"Sam-" Cas tried, but even his tone showed that it was futile to try and stop the younger brother.

"They'll bring him back to the hospital and they'll need someone to ID him and he'll need help recovering," he said, and got out his boots.

"Sam, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be out of the bunker, or driving, or halfway across the country. Dean said to watch out for you."

"I know, Cas, I know," Sam shook his head, a bit frustrated, but Cas was only doing his best. Where the brothers were concerned, the best wouldn't stop them. "I'm going. I'm not leaving him alone on the East Coast after a plane crash. I won't," he shook his head. But even bending down to grab a pair of jeans out of his drawer sent a throb of pain through his chest. There was no way he could do the almost a full day's drive in one day…

Cas was looking between the television and the other man, as if debating. "I'm going, Cas, you want to watch out for me, then I guess I'm dragging you along too."

It only took another moment for the angel nod. Sam supposed maybe he was used to it by now, the stubbornness of the Winchesters when the other one was in danger. "I'll get some supplies, meet me in the garage," he conceded and got up from the chair, tossing the remote onto the bed as he did so.

Eventually Sam managed to get his jeans, boots, and shirt up onto the bed along with a jacket. He could change later, but for the drive over, he was going in sweat pants.

He cast a glance back at the television, which was still on the same story, but with no new information, and then flipped it back off. Sam ran his hands through his hair and tried to calm down for a moment, which only half worked.

So instead of sitting and thinking about what ifs, he got ready. Medicine, bandages, clothes, and shoes went into a bag, and the plate of food went into the kitchen. He then made his way over to Dean's room, and, trying not to think too much, pulled out clothes for him too. Sweatpants, a black shirt, and that blue flannel he seemed to like when he wasn't quite feeling a hundred percent.

It all went into the bag, and Sam liked to imagine that he would stick his worries down there too.

Was this how Dean felt just a few days ago with their positions swapped?

Sam shook off the thought, turned off the light, and started heading down to the garage probably faster than he should have. Hopefully by the time they got there, the rescuers would have the survivors at one of the hospitals.

Sam had left his brother to fend for himself once when he thought he was dead a few years ago, and he was never making that mistake again. Dean was alive, he had to be.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean can't even begin to count how many times he's been knocked unconscious. Be it by a punch, lack of air, being thrown through said air and hitting something hard, or being hit by something head on, it never gets any more pleasant.

What started bringing him around that time was some light shaking and panicked voices. He didn't wake up quickly, or gracefully for that matter, he simply rolled his head over and drew in a gasp of air because that did not feel good, at all.

"I'd say take it slow, but we need to get out of here."

He could somewhat discern the voice, and what it was saying, along with the urgency in it, but he couldn't make the words _mean_ something, if that made sense. The shaking continued, but Dean was still trying to separate nightmare from reality.

It slowly came back to him that this reality was a nightmare and suddenly waking up became a lot easier. He went to stand up, but everything spun a fair amount and someone rested their hand on his shoulder.

Dean looked up, and he must have looked fairly confused, because the woman that was trying to steady him repeated her statement. "We need to go," she added urgently. Dean nodded faintly and brought his hand up to rub at his aching forehead. When it came away red, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it, and tried to shrug it off.

"Water's rising," the woman said again as the man with her tried to pull her forward, but she kept her hand on Dean.

"Water?" he muttered. Looking down, he could see that about up to his knees was covered in water. The plane was sinking, and fast, probably given that it had hit at such a high speed from so high up. How long ago had it been?

They crashed, but there was something he had to do, someone he had to call…

"Come on!" the woman actually pulled him up that time and Dean groaned, but slowly started following the man and woman out of their tiny aisle.

Once he was standing, Dean began to register just how cold the water was. It literally felt freezing, and he probably wasn't too far off given it was the Atlantic in November. It made his legs feel heavy, almost as if they were asleep.

All around them, people were crying and panicking and the staff were trying to get them to what remained of the exits before the water rose any higher. In the almost pitch black darkness, the bright orange life vests around most everyone's necks stand out as beacons.

Dean only managed to make it a few more steps before the whole plane seemed to shudder and creak. Almost immediately, it began dipping down further and the water inside started to rise. Everyone still inside began trudging through the dark water towards the emergency exits. Each step meant moving gallons of water out of the way and Dean quickly realized that jeans were not an optimal clothing choice for this scenario.

By the time they were almost to the door, the water was up to his chest and it was coming in through the door even faster. The man and woman reached the door ahead of him and said a few quick words before the man swam out, obviously pushing against the water. The woman shot Dean a glance and a small nod before she too turned and tried swimming out. Another few seconds and they were both gone, with a few more people following.

Dean quickly, or as quickly as he could, made his way over to the door with one hand to his forehead, trying to gauge if it was still bleeding. Without an excess of light, it was hard to tell. When he did make it to the door, it was mostly quiet in what remained of the plane, save for a few people and the sounds of rushing water.

He couldn't see anyone to get to them though, and if he waited a few more seconds, the door would go under and he'd be stuck in a sinking plane. For a split second, saving someone from a werewolf seemed much simpler.

Dean looked between the flooding door and the rest of the plane. He couldn't stay, that much was obvious, but he really wasn't looking forward to getting drenched, wet and half frozen jeans were bad enough.

He took another second to psyche himself up before he pushed to the door and ducked his head under. He used the door to literally pull himself past the incoming water as it rushed in, continuing to flood the plane. It took a few more seconds and a few strong kicks from legs he couldn't quite feel to get him away from the sinking mass and back to the surface.

His head broke through the water, feeling ten times worse than it did before, as if someone were literally splitting it open with an ice pick. Dean could faintly see the sinking plane in the darkness, as well as a few other swimmers around him with their life jackets.

What he couldn't see, however, was his breath coming in short gasps and forming white puffs in front of his face, but he knew they were there. There may have been something to hang onto, but he doubted it, and flipped onto his back to let the life vest hold him up a little.

Everything was just so cold and dark and hard to move. And it was freaking raining, because just being cold and in a plane crash wasn't bad enough. Even keeping afloat with his arms and legs was a bit tricky. How long would it take to get a boat or someone out to help? How far had they gone before they turned back?

Would someone reach them in time…?

Dean cut off the train of thought before it could go any further. He'd made it through worse, he had, and he could stand some cold water and a concussion.

Still, shaking in freezing water with a bleeding head wasn't the way he wanted to spend his night. And there was still something he had to do. Someone he had to call? But his phone, and his whole duffel, was lost. In hindsight, it was good he didn't bring any guns with him.

What would the Brits think when he didn't show up to the meeting? Would they know? Would they care?

Dean kept playing the guessing game with himself. It was only when he opened his eyes that he noticed the rain had stopped for a little while. He couldn't see much of the clouds aside from a bit of moon that peeked out when they shifted ever so slightly.

Just like when he'd sit on the back of the car and look at the stars, that was nice…

Dean closed his eyes and kept playing the guessing game. He kept himself afloat and kept hoping for some sort of rescue. He kept hoping that maybe the person crying off in the distance would find something to ease it. He kept wishing for a fireplace.

He kept on keeping on, floating and thinking and freezing in the middle of the Atlantic because it was the only thing he knew how to do.

* * *

I'm really sorry about the shortness of this chapter. I was sick all last week and on top of college things, I didn't have much time. I know where this story is headed, it's just a matter of getting there.

Any and all feedback would be amazing, as always :) without it, I don't know if anyone actually likes the story or not or what I should change. I'll do my best to have a longer chapter up on time next week, thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Again, sorry for the long break between updates, I'll be shooting for an update every two weeks (sorry) until college apps are done, which they almost are, promise! In case it isn't clear, italics represent a flashback, just a heads up :) And I still don't own SPN (but am eagerly awaiting the season 13 premiere, what do you guys think?)

* * *

" _Okay. Full moon's two weeks away, there's two of them for sure, no more, and I'd say no less but we could always hope for some random stroke of luck. And they won't get the jump on us because-"_

 _"_ _Because we've been the ones watching them for once," Sam finished, with a slightly good-natured eye roll. "Dude, how many times have we been over this? Four? We know how it's going to go."_

 _Dean stopped, mouth open part way as he tried to formulate a response._ _"Yeah no, I know, I just wanted to make sure you were clear on everything, no room for error and all that, I am not hauling you through some forest with werewolves on my ass."_

 _Although there was a touch of humor in his voice, there was also a deep ring of truth. It was less than a year since their past werewolf hunt, which had led to both of them being temporarily dead (although Sam didn_ _'t know about Dean's…circumstances). "And I'm not hauling you out if all your loud 'reminding' gets us caught with our pants down," Sam countered with a small smile._

 _"_ _Whatever. Just stick to the plan." With that, they lapsed into silence and continued to the cabin._

 _It was, in fact, a rare hunt where everything had been planned out. Sam had of course noticed, but had elected to not say anything, which Dean was somewhat grateful for. He never planned things like this, ever, but he didn_ _'t want a repeat of last time._

 _The werewolves weren_ _'t supposed to be purebloods, so they hopefully shouldn't be causing too much trouble. They were just a pair of dudes up in a hunting cabin, sometimes going into town a few miles away for some…takeout. Dean had even tried to park the Impala closer, should there be any problems, which, in their line of work, were likely to occur to some degree. Everything they could do they were prepared for._

 _They were extremely cautious to avoid any fallen branches as they approached the small cabin. Rather than split up or go through the front, they avoided the windows and snaked their way in through the back._

 _They had in fact watched the two men drive up (from their place covered by the Impala and the trees with a pair of binoculars) and enter the cabin, but neither one of them had left. There was a light on in the sitting room and only one story to the cabin, so signs pointed to them being in that room. All the brothers had to do was go in the back, get behind the sitting room, and end it before anything started. It was simple, yeah, it_ _'d be super simple, as it always was._

 _Dean sent Sam one more look as they both cocked their guns. Dean tried the handle, which was of course locked, and went about unlocking it. Sure, he could kick it in, but then again, it was all about minimizing risks. The door eventually clicked open, and Dean put the kit away to return to his gun._

 _With careful hands, he began to push the door open, both of them at the ready_ _…_

* * *

There was something bright in his eyes. Not bright as in 'heavenly death light bright', that wasn't exactly a thing and Dean had the unfortunate experience to prove it. It wasn't a light, it was just black. So when the darkness around him started getting brighter, he knew he wasn't dead…yet. As the brightness became a bit more annoying, the…memory was it? started to fade away.

With some degree of difficulty, he pried his eyes open, which he was surprised to not find frozen shut. Everything was freezing and just…heavy, as if he were a cold, slowly sinking stone. Cold Stone? No, not like the ice cream, like the metaphor. What was he thinking?

He would've shaken his head to dispel the thoughts, but decided that it would be a better idea to not jostle his head and instead look for the source of the light. He had no idea how long he had been in the water for, after all.

Off to his right a fair distance away, there were voices. While they were muted, there was also light surrounding them. Dean pressed his eyes shut and opened them again, trying to get a clearer picture of what was going on. He waited a few seconds for things to focus, but he was pretty sure he could make out a blocky outline and some lights flashing over the dark surf.

And those lights were bright, obviously search lights scanning the area. Given the blocky shape, the size of the plane that had gone down, and the lights, he was guessing (and hoping) for some sort of rescue ship. How long had he been out there? And how many boats were even available? How the hell would they see him?

That last question seemed to wake him up more from whatever frozen daze he had found himself stuck in. Dean went to raise his arms, which proved to be more of a challenge than it should have been, and send a sluggish flow of blood to his already pounding head. Would anyone even see a lone, small arm waving around?

"H'y," he tried calling. Or, calling was a drastic overstatement. The attempted shout never made it further than his mouth, which was chattering and closed mostly shut. His next attempt resulted in a few staggered coughs, but still no attention or rescue attempt. He shifted his shoulders and gradually his whole body to try and get some blood going, which he assumed would help.

"Hey," Dean managed to get the whole word out on the third attempt. "Hey!" Now that one was louder, but the boats were still too far away, and most likely pre-occupied with getting others to safety. But still, he could see the ship and its lights. Give a Winchester a destination or an objective, and they could figure out the rest.

"Come on you stubborn sonofabitch," he half muttered, half thought. He was not dying in some freezing water after a plane crash, it just wasn't happening. He had to get back home, he had things he needed to do.

It took some more mental pushing but eventually he started moving his arms and legs. Slowly but surely Dean started to make his way through the undulating waves, trying to ignore the aching and pinpricks throughout his body.

* * *

 _Lebanon, Kansas 7:51pm_

When they had first stepped foot into that cabin only a week or so ago, things had been quiet. If they only knew what they had been in for, it would have seemed more like the calm before the storm,

That was how Sam was feeling, his echoing, slightly limping footsteps the only sound in the bunker as he made his way towards the garage, bags slung over his shoulder. He was trying to be quick, but not being able to breathe completely wasn't exactly helping.

When he finally got to the garage, Cas was already standing there, a pair of similar duffles slung over his shoulder, but he was staring at the Impala, as if confused.

"Come on, we need to load it up," Sam instructed as he made his way over and popped the trunk open.

"Why didn't Dean take the car?" the angel asked, but he too eventually came around to the back end of the machine.

"Said he didn't want her being all alone in an airport parking lot," Sam replied. He probably would have smiled, if not for the situation that presented itself that led them to having to drive the Impala anyways.

Cas nodded as he put the bags in and took Sam's final one. "It does sound like something he would be opposed to."

"Yeah," Sam replied absently. He fingered the keys for a moment in his pocked before he brought them out. If he couldn't even walk to the garage without being out of breath, he doubted he could drive for a solid day without problems. Dean hadn't even wanted him driving in the first place, and his injury was the reason why he hadn't been on the plane with Dean…

Sam cut off the train of thought by tossing Cas the keys, which he caught, and again looked at, a bit confused. "I shouldn't drive," Sam admitted weakly. "Dean would kill either of us if we crashed it, so just be careful."

Cas looked from the keys to Sam for another moment before he too, nodded. "I will be careful," he said, as if promising, and closed the trunk. Sam went through his mental checklist again, they had clothes, his meds, ID, and money, and whatever Cas had brought, so they should be fine when they got to New York and got to Dean. Because they'd get to him because he would be alright.

As soon as Cas started up the car, rock music began blaring from the speakers, which Sam hurriedly turned down and shook his head before he switched it to the radio station. It took a few minutes of driving away from the bunker to get a decent signal, and when they did, the news was still repeating what they had already heard on the television.

Eventually the radio got lowered, though both men kept an ear out for anything new. After an hour of driving, the nine o'clock update came on, and Sam turned it up again before he resumed his position of looking out the window.

 _"This just in, news of flight 523 and its passengers. Coast Guard crews have been sweeping the area for the past half hour and just five minutes ago came into contact with survivors-"_

Sam immediately reached over and turned it up.

 _"-some of whom we have been told are gravely injured and suffering from hypothermia. Over an hour in the frigid water is enough to bring about the possibility of permanent damage, but as of now, survivors have started being picked up. More rescue boats have been dispatched to the area, hoping to bring all four hundred and two people back safely. Stay tuned, we'll have more information on the rescue in half an hour."_

The car was silent for a few moments as the report changed to some advertisement and Sam again lowered it.

"It's likely Dean is still alive," Cas reminded a minute or so later, eyes still fixed on the road. "If survivors have been found in those conditions, so could he."

Sam nodded absently. "I know, Cas, I know." It was a quiet admission. He wanted to know that it would be alright, but wanting wasn't the same as having. But all Sam had was that wanting and hoping that Dean was already on the boat, and not one of the gravely injured the report had talked about.

Though, in their line of work, wanting and hoping often didn't lead to the best of outcomes.

* * *

Thanks for sticking with this story! Admittedly, these few chapters have been harder to write. I've got everything planned out but this section, but once we get in two or three more chapters, it'll get going, promise. I also forgot to do guest reviews last time (sorry!)

Guest: Hope you liked this installment and thanks as always for reading! Means the world to me :)


	7. Chapter 7

Sam had vaguely been watching the passing street signs as the Impala continued to fly down the highway (at a relatively safe speed, with an angel being the wheel and an injured Winchester in the passenger seat, mind you). He managed to catch half an hour of sleep here or there, but Cas kept them driving through the night, only stopping a few times for breaks and snacks.

After each passing hour, Sam's chest was definitely starting to hurt more, however. He just needed rest and to de-stress and take his meds and know that Dean was alright. But stopping for a motel would mean losing a few valuable hours to getting to Dean as soon as possible. Sam re-situated himself every time the pain started creeping up again, assured Cas that he was alright, and went back to watching the world pass by. It was easier than thinking about what may be happening on the other side of the country, after all.

Though, without the blaring rock music, something seemed off. Cas didn't dare to touch Dean's coveted tape deck, and after an hour or so of lame radio music, the Impala had once again become quiet. It was just another reminder of the reason why they were in the Impala in the first place.

As soon as the sun started cresting over the horizon, Sam had woken up from another short reprieve to find that the car was parked. He blinked his eyes a few times to focus them, and upon further looking, found no Cas in the car with him and said car in the parking lot of a motel.

It only took another moment of looking around, confused, for Cas to come back and drop a key onto the dashboard.

"No, Cas, c'mon, we need to keep driving," Sam protested, although a bit weaker than he intended. The stop wasn't for Cas, after all.

Cas didn't reply, and instead turned the car back on and began driving towards the other side of the small complex.

"Cas-" he started again.

"No," was the simple, unmoving argument back as Cas didn't take his eyes off the road. "Dean told me to take care of you, which is what I intend to do. You're obviously in pain, you're too tired and worried to mask it, you need rest."

The car was silent for another few moments until Cas pulled into a spot in front of a few of the rooms, turned off the car, and paused before he looked to Sam. "It will do Dean no good other than to worry him if you show up at the hospital in pain and sleep deprived."

Sam had to admit Cas at least had a point there. Assuming Dean was even at the hospital; they had elected to turn off the news until they stopped for breaks, but the signal wasn't always the best. Hopefully the motel would at least have something.

He thought it over for another minute before he slowly nodded. It would do neither of them any good to sit and argue over it. "Yeah, you've got a point," Sam said quietly.

"Just a few hours, we can leave at dusk, and should make it to New York sometime tomorrow, we're making good time," Cas continued, as if to assure Sam just a bit more.

"Sounds good," Sam nodded again. "I just-I don't want-Dean hates hospitals," he eventually ended on, trying for a bit of a smirk that eventually fell flat.

Cas seemed to understand what he was getting at and nodded back. "From my experience, I can't see why someone would like being in one," he agreed. "He's probably there already, resting, as you should be," Cas reminded. He toyed with the car keys a bit in his hand before he grabbed the motel key, got out of the car, and headed around to the trunk.

"Probably," Sam repeated quietly, and shook his head. Dean had to be, he had to be. He was probably all doped up on painkillers and sleeping or trying to sign himself out and get a phone or helping with the rescue efforts himself. Sam preferred the second of third option to the first, even though Dean on painkillers made for some fun stories later.

Sam soon followed Cas, although it took him a bit longer, out of the car and into the waiting motel room.

"Thanks," Sam added quietly, with a hint of a smile on his face that stuck around for a bit longer. He wouldn't have gotten a quarter of this far without Cas, that was certain.

"It is no problem, we'll get him back," the angel assured Sam again before he put the duffel down on the little kitchenette table. "I can put up the salt lines, though I doubt they'll be needed, you should get some rest."

Sam looked back and forth between the bed closest to the door, which would probably remain empty, and the duffel on the table. "Yeah," he nodded again and made his way over to the duffel to grab his medication.

Though he doubted he'd be able to sleep much with his thoughts running rampant through his head, it couldn't hurt to at least lie down. Meds, water, bed, drive, Dean, and get food somewhere in there. He had a mental list, so only five things to do before they got to Dean. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

* * *

Dean was sure he was getting closer to the boat. Or at least, he should have been. The waves and his splitting skull and the fact that his body didn't exactly want to move weren't helping the situation any. He just had to get to the boat…how far was it?

"Here!" he tried again, and raised a numb arm above the water. The searchlights were spinning around looking for people. As Dean watched, they would sometimes stay on one figure for a few moments and there would either be some sort of movement or the lights would go back to searching. He knew that it meant when the lights went back, and he didn't want the same fate to happen to him.

Gradually, the ship got closer, but with every passing moment, it was if his life was literally leeching out into the water around him. Everything was just cold and was moving too much and…and…

He raised another arm above the water, grateful he had a life vest on so that he could do so.

"H'y," Dean tried again, and coughed some of the water away from his face, which did not help at all. Were his ribs hurt too? Did he hurt his ribs? He honestly had no idea.

The lights kept spinning and Dean kept his arm up, until, magically, one seemed to stop on him. And _damn_ the sudden influx of light hurt. It hurt a lot, so much so that he had to turn his head away. With eyes squeezed shut, Dean kept his arm raised and waved it back and forth a bit, hoping that it wasn't just dumb luck and that a person on the boat actually saw him.

By some miracle, it seemed, the light got even brighter. So…either he was dying or someone had seen him, and Dean was really hoping the latter.

He couldn't discern the words, but there was obviously some shouting going on, and it seemed to be getting closer. Dean lowered his arm gradually, letting it thunk back into the icy water. He didn't move any more, he just sat there, bobbing up and down as the voices got closer.

He had definitely been seen, and if his head wasn't killing him so much, he'd laugh out of sheer freaking gratitude.

It took another few moments for the boat to reach him. Or…he thought moments, it could have been minutes, he wasn't really sure. But he didn't dare open his eyes again, for the light was too bright against the dark waves he had gotten used to.

The shouting kept getting closer until it was right on top of him, and then there were hands scrambling to get him up onto the boat. A few latched onto his life vest and heaved, with Dean letting out a fairly loud groan as they did so.

And then…the undulating stopped. There was semi-solid ground under him as he flopped (which was probably a nicer term than what actually happened) onto the deck and looked, a bit dazed, at the people around him.

"-you hear me? Sir?"

Dean caught the last bit of the sentence and he blinked his eyes, trying to focus more on the man in front of him, who was very loudly asking him something. It seemed loud, anyways.

He nodded his head in the slightest bit, which he immediately deemed afterwards to be a bad call, as a sudden wave of dizziness had him tilting to the side.

"Okay, okay, easy there," the first part was directed to him. "Get him propped up on the side, we need to get the vest and jacket off, grab a blanket and a wrap for his head, it doesn't look good," was said to the rest of the people milling around him. What Dean heard was more chopped up, but he got the gist.

How badly was his head hurt? Before he could contemplate it more, he was gently slid to rest against the side of the boat, or a chair, or something hard and stable.

"Gonna get you out of all this wet gear, how does that sound?"

Dean couldn't tell if it was a rhetorical question or not, so he closed his eyes again.

"Hey, sound good yes or no, we need to keep you awake," the man prompted again, and tapped Dean a bit on the shoulder as he went about removing his life vest and outer jacket, both of which were thoroughly soaked.

Someone came rushing back over with a blanket, which was quickly wrapped around his shoulders, and a few 'thanks' followed before the other person left.

"Okay, sir, you gotta name, some ID on you?"

ID? Not on him, no, it was back in his bag in the…plane, yeah, he wasn't getting any of that back.

"D," was all he managed to get out through his chattering teeth as he wrung his hands together. When the hell did it get so cold and hard to move?

"Alright, D, can you tell me what happened?"

Dean really wasn't in favor of the questions, but he was less in favor of the sudden pressure on his head as the man pressed a bandage to it. That alone had his eyes opening wide as he gasped, some of the numbness from the water wearing off with the pain.

"Sorry, gotta stop the bleeding," the man apologized quietly, obviously focused on working while he waited for Dean's answer.

"Crash," he muttered.

"Okay, good. Do you know what date it is?"

There was more pressure on his head, which again had him nearly tipping over as the man fastened the bandage around his wound.

What had he asked? Date? It was…cold. So a cold month, it was…why was this so hard?

"D?" the man prompted again. When Dean didn't answer, he pulled out a flashlight. "Gonna pass this over your eyes, see how it feels, okay?"

Dean didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, so he kept his eyes open as best he could, but ended up shutting them immediately as the light passed over them.

"Hurts, huh?"

Damn right it hurt. But Dean couldn't exactly express that given how tense and tight everything was, so he let out a low 'mhm'.

The man put his flashlight away and tugged someone else over, at which point Dean kept his eyes closed.

"Hypothermia…hour and a half in the water minimum…head gash…concussion probably, he needs to get this checked out."

From the gist of it, his prognosis didn't sound good.

"Got about fifteen minutes before another boat gets here, you hang on that long and we'll be back in town before you know it, get you some hot chocolate, you like that? I'm gonna grab a cup of hot water, don't you go anywhere."

At some point before that was said, the other person had vanished. But this man, he was trying to keep him up and talking or lucid or something. It reminded him of how someone else usually got…he probably wouldn't be too happy if Dean passed out.

Well, that was too bad for him then. Dean listed sideways, happy to find that there was something to prop his aching head up on before he curled his legs in tighter and got the blanket more snug around his shaking form.

It was only then that he noticed the hushed voices and cries of those around him. How many were on the boat? How many were still in the water?

How long did the guy say they had to stay out for? Fifty minutes? No, no, no, that wouldn't be good.

Before the man could get back with whatever he had gone off to grab, the numbness in his body and pain in his head and overall shaking and tiredness and a whole list of other things had Dean slowly losing track of why it was important to stay conscious.

* * *

Again, sorry about the long wait, I've been super sick these past few weeks :/ but we're moving right along! Dean's portion was supposed to be a bit jumbled and confused, we'll get to the why later, I just hope it came through alright. Fingers crossed there may be an update this coming week, we'll see. Thank you all so, so much for your support, I can't tell you how much it means. Feel free to drop a review about the story or how you're finding season 13 so far ;)

shigui: Capturing spirits in a nondemonic and pleasant (almost) sort of way is what I've been going for, thanks so much :)


	8. Chapter 8

_Like many old cabins, the door creaked ever so slightly as it was opened. Dean paused for a moment, hand still on the handle while the other re-curled against his gun. Sam kept his own weapon up, half waiting for one of the men to come through the door at that very second. When that didn't happen, Dean pushed it open enough for Sam to slip through._

 _The room they entered was the kitchen, and Sam quickly moved to the right side before Dean slipped in the left. There were faint voices from the room over where the men were, and Sam jerked his head in that direction. Of course, Dean had heard too, and was cautiously peeking around the edge of the wall. Sam watched his brother and remained motionless, making sure no one else came around the back._

 _Dean took another step forward, his heavy boots making the old wood floor creak much like the door._

 _But that was all it took. A tiny, minuscule little sound of pressure being applied and the conversation in the other room stopped. There was a second of silence before bullets started raining in from the sitting room._

 _There was a sharp_ _"Sam!" uttered as Dean dropped to the floor and his brother tried to follow suit. Unfortunately, one of the stray bullets caught him in the side of his chest and spun him around._

 _One of his hands immediately went from his gun to the wound, which wasn_ _'t exactly bad, but was searing and probably hit a rib as it scraped by. Still, Sam tried to duck as the bullets continued, only ceasing to reload._

 _Dean cast him a hurried glance before he was off, gun at the ready, into the other room. Sam didn_ _'t hear much beyond a struggle and a few pained grunts before he had gotten up too, left hand still at his side._

 _As he entered the room, the free werewolf that Dean was not trying to manhandle on the ground came at him from the side and knocked him down, which didn_ _'t help his wound any. The wind was knocked out of his already pained lungs as Sam hit the ground, the other man on top of him._

 _The two began grappling for Sam_ _'s gun, the man trying to pin down Sam's arm and pry it from his grasp as Sam fought back. He kept twisting, only sending more flares of pain to the injury. Somehow, he hooked his leg around the man's knee and twisted again, managing to roll them over so that Sam was on top._

 _The only problem was that the gun was between their chests, safety off, and had two grown men scrambling for control. Sam grunted and winced as the werewolf_ _'s superior strength began to win out. All it took was another wrong spike of pain and something falling over from Dean's own scuffle to make Sam lose control._

 _The first gunshot he heard was that of Dean_ _'s gun finding its place in the first werewolf, and the thud that followed was the body hitting the ground. The second gunshot he heard made his ears ring, but it was also aimed at him._

 _The round went into his chest with such force that Sam jolted back, away from the assailant. The only thing he registered more than the white hot agony was the feeling of breathlessness that took over_ _…and the fact that Dean was shouting his name._

* * *

 _November 12, 5:23pm_

The nightmare, no, memory, had Sam waking up rather abruptly. He was careful to not jolt awake, but his racing heart wasn't helping his still healing injury. He couldn't shake the memory…not the wood creaking beneath his feet or the pain in his chest or how worried Dean had been…

"Sam?" came Cas' quiet question into his well-being.

"Yeah, sorry, bad dream," Sam assured and shook his head a bit before he looked over towards the angel, who was sitting at the small motel table with a laptop out. "I'm good," he added, seeing the worried glance that had crossed Cas' face. "What time is it?"

Cas glanced at the clock on the top of the computer screen. "Currently it is 5:23, now :24pm, you slept on and off for about six hours," he informed, to which Sam nodded again.

"Any news?" He wasn't sure what kind of news he was referring to…any would be helpful, and good would be preferable.

Cas shook his head. "Pertaining to Dean directly, no, they haven't released specific information regarding the people involved. Though," he took another look at the screen, "it is estimated that about a hundred and fifty people have been rescued so far, they're still searching for survivors."

Dean could very easily be a part of that hundred and fifty, there was no reason why he shouldn't be…but just as easily he could still be in the water. Or he could be in a boat unaccounted for at the hospitals yet. There were so many options and what ifs and unanswered questions.

Sam rubbed his hand down his face and nodded again.

"I did bring some food in case you were hungry. And you should take your medicine with it too, so I would advise doing so before we leave again," Cas mentioned and motioned towards the duffel bag that was on the free, still untouched bed. It was the bed closest to the door, and having it empty was just another sign of how screwed up their current situation was.

"Thanks," Sam half smiled. Getting out of bed was a literal pain, as the painkillers had faded in the hours since he had last taken them. His chest throbbed dully as he got up and then sat down on the other bed and began rummaging through it.

"How long should it take us to get to New York? Half a day?" he asked, his calculations probably off as he dug out a bottle of pills and a bag of pretzels.

Cas typed a few more things into the computer and read for a moment before he nodded. "Driving through the night, and with stops, we should reach New York by morning, though we will also have to find out which hospital survivors were taken to and make our way there."

Okay, tomorrow morning. They'd find Dean by tomorrow morning, and probably per his disgruntled, hurried request to get out of the hospital, be out by mid-afternoon. Everything would be fine, it always was, and if not, they'd make it fine. Fifteen hours, tops. Dean could last fifteen more hours by himself…right?

"And you're fine driving like that?" Sam checked, just to be sure, because it was hard to tell with the angel sometimes.

Cas nodded in assurance. "I am confident that we can get there in the set amount of time. I am doubtful that I would tire enough to not be able to drive that far," he explained, with a bit of a smile himself. Sam figured Cas wanted to find Dean as much as he did.

"Alright then," Sam nodded back. "Say we hit the road in…twenty?"

Cas shrugged and went back to looking at the computer. "Whatever is best for you, Sam."

Sam sighed a little and decided to focus on his pretzels. He went about making another mental list, a tally of sorts, of how many more things they had to do before they got to Dean. It kept him thinking about the situation, but not _about_ the situation, if it made sense. It did to him, anyways.

He opened up the bag and popped a pretzel into his mouth. Food, meds, gather things to put into the car, drive, a few pit stops, research, hospital, Dean. He went over the list a few more times. He could fit the items onto two hands, which was good. It wouldn't be that long until they got him back, and only a few small things had to be checked off before they could do so.

* * *

They hit the road again twenty-three minutes later and the next few hours passed by in much of the same style as they had before. There was no real noise, save for a few attempts at some decent radio music and more than a few accompanying short conversations.

At one point, Cas asked about the lyrics to the song, which made Sam smile, and he could't figure out if the angel was doing it on purpose to make him smile or if he was genuinely confused. Either way, it was an…interesting experience.

Around eight, Sam sat up in his seat a bit straighter as he came across a new piece of information. "Found where they're taking the majority of the survivors," he relayed to Cas, who cast him a quick glance from the road. "Looks like it's one just a few miles from Jersey City, across one of the bridges onto Long Island," Sam said and clicked a few more things. "Long Island General."

"We have a set destination now, that is good," Cas added, seemingly a bit more at ease now that they knew exactly where they would be going.

Sam hummed a bit in agreement as he kept reading. "Latest reports say one hundred seventy eight survivors were brought to the hospital…" he trailed off before he read the next numbers. "Twenty three confirmed dead. The rest are either on boats on their way back or still being searched for."

Silence began to permeate the car once again, their worries remained unspoken.

"He's there, Sam," eventually cut through the tension, "he has to be. If Dean Winchester is something other than a survivor, he's one of the most stubborn men I've ever met." He cast the younger brother another glance, to which he nodded in understanding.

"No way he'd let a plane kill him, no way," Sam agreed, and tried for a smile. It only ended up half working, but that was enough. His phone gradually dimmed and then shut off, but he didn't turn it on again, for he had gotten the information he needed.

Half an hour later, Cas pulled in to refuel Baby, allowing Sam a moment along with the thoughts he didn't want rattling around inside his head. The lights under the metallic plates covering the station were much too bright and the truck idling at the next pump over was too loud. The car itself was too quiet without its rock music, which Sam had gotten used to over the years, though he would never admit it to Dean.

Sam gingerly reached down to grab a water bottle to give himself something to do. Less than twelve hours; his mental list was getting shorter the closer they got.

Cas opened the closed the door a minute later, his gaze lingering for a moment on the opened but otherwise untouched bottle of water in Sam's lap. He didn't say anything, and instead threw the car into drive and started driving away from the station.

As the too bright lights faded into the rearview mirror, Sam leaned his head against the window as he had so often done and closed his eyes. After all, Cas was right. Dean would be mad if he showed up at the hospital having gotten no sleep, and he couldn't let his brother down.

* * *

 _November 13, 7:42am_

As predicted, they made it to the hospital just before eight in the morning, with only minimal stops. Sam had managed to somehow get a few hours of sleep on the way and Cas looked alright, so they parked the car in the big parking structure next to the hospital and closed the doors behind them.

Sam was careful to take any identification they had with them, as well as a card for health insurance. They made their way into the hospital slower than Sam would have liked, but he wasn't exactly at his top speed.

Once they were inside, it was clear that being the main hospital following a plane crash tended to make things a bit more crazy. Not that papers were flying everywhere and people were running like they had hellhounds on their heels, but nurses did seem more frazzled and most of the chairs in the waiting area were taken up.

"Stay here, I'll check with the front," Sam said quietly, and began making his way up before Cas could protest. He plastered a smile onto his face as he walked up to the front desk, trying to ignore the pain in his chest that had been aggravated by the car ride over.

"Hi, I was wondering if you could help me find someone?" he asked once the nurse finished typing on her computer and looked up at him.

"Looking for a victim of the crash?" she asked, looking probably more tired than she normally was.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, my brother was on the flight, we heard this was mainly where people were being taken. He hasn't answered his phone, or texts, and no one else has been able to reach him," he explained.

The nurse nodded at this. "Do you have records? I need a date of birth, physical description, photos, things like that."

Sam nodded again and pulled out the documents he had stored in his jacket pocket. One was a picture of Dean's driver's license, one was Sam's, and the other was a picture of the two of them together.

The nurse looked them over before she typed his name into the database. Sam looked on expectantly, trying to not drum his fingers on the counter as he had a habit of doing. She clicked a few more things before she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, he's not in the database for people that have been brought in over the past few days."

Sam's heart immediately fell. What if it was the wrong hospital? What if he hadn't been brought in yet? What if-

"But we have had a few John Does come in, lost their ID in the crash, and," she clicked a few more things, "a few still haven't been able to provide us with their information. Would you mind if I passed these off to one of the staff and had them check?"

And just like that, the tiny flickering flame of hope inside Sam's aching chest got reignited. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he nodded hurriedly.

"Great," she smiled tiredly at him. "Have a seat, I'll send the staff member over to you if they find anything."

"Thanks so much," Sam added with a smile of his own as the nurse took the documents and waved someone else over. He turned and headed back into the waiting room, finding Cas standing by the water dispenser, as all the seats were taken.

"Is he here?" the angel asked expectantly, arms folded across his chest.

Sam shrugged ever so slightly. "Maybe. He's not in the database, but they have a few John Does, so the nurse is checking it out, said for us to wait here."

Cas nodded back at the news. "If he's not here, we'll check the other hospitals."

"Yeah," Sam replied absently. He wasn't sure what else to say other than that of course they would check all the hospitals until they found Dean one way or another.

They ended up propped against the wall for the next twenty or so minutes, listening to the sounds of the hospital around them until a voice called "Sam Winchester?" and had both of them perking up.

The voice came from a middle aged blonde nurse off to the side in the front of the waiting room. Sam waved his hand and motioned for Cas to follow before making his way over.

"That's me," he introduced with a slight smile. "This is our half brother, Castiel," Sam introduced, to which Cas nodded in greeting. "Is there…is Dean here?"

The woman, 'Marian', as denoted by her name tag, looked over the two before she sighed. "If the picture and description matches the man, then…yes."

A smile immediately broke out across both men's faces, but was quickly threatened by the hesitation in Marian's voice. "He-he's okay, right, if he's here?" Sam asked, shaking his head a bit as he tried to understand where the hesitation was coming from.

"To a degree. He's alive, but he came in unconscious and with no identification or history, so he's listed as a John Doe," Marian informed. "Unfortunately, he hasn't regained consciousness since he's been in our care."

And that was the source of the hesitation, Sam found. Still, Dean was alive, that had to count for something, right?

"Do you know what's wrong?" Cas interjected, worry lines forming on his forehead.

Marian nodded before she shrugged in the slightest. "He had been in the water a while when they found him, and hypothermia had set in, like with many of the other survivors. Bruised ribs and torso in general, but it's his head that's causing problems."

"Head?" Sam clarified? Head wounds were notorious for being nasty, especially with their luck combined with the fact that Dean hadn't woken up yet.

"He has a concussion and a lot of swelling in his forehead, but we don't know how bad everything will be until he wakes up."

"He will wake up though, right?" Sam pressed, and looked worriedly between her and Cas, who had taken a sudden interest in the wall behind Marian's left shoulder.

She, in turn, sighed. "It's hard to tell. We can hope, but from the way this looks on the surface and the severity of the circumstances, you may need to prepare yourselves for the fact that this injury could have long-term effects."

Marian said it as gently as possible, but there was no easy way to tell a Winchester that there was a possibility their brother may never be the same.

At least Dean was still alive, that was all Sam kept repeating to himself. He'd wake up and he'd be fine and they'd go back to the Bunker and everything would go back to normal and-

"Sam?"

Sam shook his head, as if that would work to jostle his thoughts, but it didn't. "He will-he'll-uh, he'll be okay though, right? People bounce back from head wounds all the time."

Marian sighed again and shook her head back, blonde curls rolling on her shoulder. "Until he wakes up, I'm sorry to tell the two of you, but we just have to wait and hope."

* * *

 **Moving right along! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I admittedly had some trouble with it. Good news is that I'm attempting to do this story for Nanowrimo, so hopefully it'll motivate me to write a bit more! As always, thank you thank you thank you all for reading and reviewing if you have a second, and I'll see you in a week or two depending on how my schedule works out.**


	9. Chapter 9

Usually, Sam was the brother that was better at the whole 'waiting and hoping' thing, because things usually weren't this dire. At least Dean was in a hospital, and at least he was alive, that was what mattered then. The 'what ifs' and 'for nows' could wait a little while at least.

"Can we see him?" Cas spoke up for Sam, his usually fairly blank face betrayed by worry lines that made him look all the more human.

Marian looked between the two men before she nodded. "Follow me, he's on floor three with our more serious cases," she explained, and waved them forward.

Sam half heard her, and it took Cas' hand on his shoulder to bring him back down to earth. He nodded and quirked a bit of a smile that he was okay, at least for now. When he saw Dean though…he wasn't sure.

They followed Marian down the hallways, boots echoing on the tile as the noise from the waiting area gradually disappeared behind them. They got into the main elevator and she pushed the button for floor three and they all waited in pained silence. When the door quietly dinged open, they again followed her to the right and down one more hallway before they stopped by a door, numbered 376.

The door was already half open to allow for easier access, and Marian opened it all the way to let the two of them in. Cas entered first and Sam followed close behind, both parts eager and nervous to see Dean again, who wasn't even conscious.

The three of them stopped at the far end of the room, gaze trained on the man in the bed, who looked about as Sam had expected him to, but it was still a bit of a shock. He hadn't seen Dean in a hospital for an injury in so long, even though he himself just got out of his own stay.

Dean's head was thoroughly wrapped in white bandages and gauze so that only bits of his brown hair stuck out. There was a cannula wrapped around his nose, but no breathing tube, which Sam figured was at least a small victory. Dean's pallor was the most worrying thing though. While it wasn't stark white, it was more grey than peachy like he was used to.

Sam wasn't sure how long they had been standing there, but eventually Marian broke the silence.

"I can read off the full report," she offered, and looked between them again.

Sam kept his eyes trained on his brother. There were a few more words said, a few more glances, and then Cas and Marian were headed outside the room, leaving the door only cracked open as they did so.

And then Sam was alone with his unconscious brother.

He vaguely registered their muted conversation from outside the door, but that's all it was: muted. Much louder in his brain were the various beeps and whirs and little moving lines that were making sure his brother was more or less stable. Sam wasn't unfamiliar with the noises, again, he had just gotten away from his own, but he never wanted to be in the hospital again surrounded by those noises for Dean.

Hospitals were notorious for not delivering good news for his brother, to no fault of their own. Even when they were kids, a broken arm was worse than it should have been. A decade ago, a heart attack was going to end Dean's life. Half a decade ago, a beating at the hands of Alistair messed him up for the better part of a week.

Last year there was Corbin and the bullet in Sam's side and the story of what went on in the hospital that Dean refused to recount under any circumstances.

So it was no surprise that as Sam pulled up the empty chair next to Dean's bed, his hands were shaking. Just once, wouldn't a plane crash, hypothermia, concussion, and bruised body be enough? Did they have to wait for another shoe to drop? Sam dropped his head into his hands before running them through his hair. Chuck was gone, they didn't exactly want angel attention, who was there left to pray to? To ask for some small, minuscule amount of mercy that they probably deserved after years of crap luck?

No one.

Sam took another shaky breath from his aching lungs and raised his head to look at his brother. Up close, he could see various other scratches on Dean's face that marred his otherwise freckled skin. He was also paler up close, and too still. He was also face up, which was more unnerving, considering he was a hardcore stomach sleeper. Everything about his brother in front of him was just…off in one way or another.

Still, after a moment of contemplation, he reached a free hand up to grasp Dean's left. He didn't jerk at the touch of cold flesh anymore, but it was a far from comforting feeling. Still, if Dean were conscious, he'd be making fun of Sam for just staring at him and not saying anything. But what was there to say? A simply 'hey how are you feeling?' didn't exactly cut it.

"Cas drove here. Hope you're not too pissed," he said quietly, his voice breaking just a bit. "I mean, you said for me to not drive, so he was the only other option. But bright side, your Baby's back," Sam quirked a smile as he looked over Dean, half expecting him to wake up at that very statement.

"So how about you get your lazy ass out of bed and take her for a spin?"

The question was met with more beeps and wheezes and unnatural sounds. Sam nodded and clenched his jaw; what had he expected? Some miraculous Hallmark movie waking up moment? He knew better.

Sam lost track of how long he sat by Dean's bed, a position which he had become all too familiar with over the years. When the door opened to reveal Cas with a cup of coffee, he figured it must have taken at least a little while.

Cas passed off the cup to Sam, who took it with an appreciative smile after letting Dean's hand go. "How is he?" Cas asked quietly, his voice breaking through the repetitive beeping that had taken up residence in Sam's head. He pulled up the other chair next to Sam's and sat down in it as he waited for a reply.

"Okay? I guess? He's just…" Sam wasn't quite sure how to finish. "He'll be fine, he just needs some time," yeah, that was it. He ran a hand down his face and took a sip of the hospital coffee, which he had not missed. "What did Marian say?"

Cas took a moment to reply. "In short, his condition is…complicated," he started, and shook his head. "In longer terms, his ribs and body should heal fine, but the hypothermia did some damage, and they're worried about the effect it may have had on his head injury, which probably occurred at the time of the crash. They…they expected him to wake up sometime soon. Since he hasn't yet though, he is officially…comatose."

Sam stilled at that word, and Cas must have seen it, because he stopped for a few seconds before continuing.

"They're planning on moving him up to the ICU tonight once some of the other survivors get moved around."

Sam took the new knowledge in with nothing but a stoic nod and another nail of worry into his slightly freaked out coffin. He had been waiting for the other shoe, and that was it.

Dean…in a coma.

Things hadn't been that bad since Dad was still with them…

"I…I can't heal something of this degree anymore, Sam, I'm sorry."

Sam wasn't expecting that and turned to find the angel's eyes on him, utterly defeated in a way the hunter had seldom seen. He immediately shook his head and turned a bit more towards him.

"No, Cas, don't be sorry. You drove…two days straight almost to get here, to get us here, that's the most you could have done. You've patched us up so many times over the years, Cas, there won't ever be any hard feelings. Thank you," he gave his friend a tired, but wholly appreciative smile.

Cas thought it over for a second before he too, nodded. "Once he wakes up, they'll know better how to treat him," he added.

"Wait and see," Sam muttered, putting a hand under his chin to lean his head against before he took another sip of his coffee.

They sat like that for a few hours, waiting and doing less seeing than either one wanted. Throughout that time, they both filled out various pieces of paperwork and kept their eyes on the news for any new information about the crash. There were still survivors coming in, but the rate was slower now that a few days had passed.

Eventually, afternoon started to turn to evening. It was then that Cas sent Sam downstairs to the cafeteria to get food and take his medicine, with a thoroughly repeated promise to watch over Dean.

Sam picked a corner table for two people, sat down, ate the food that tasted like nothing with every bite he took, and washed down his pills with more coffee. Before he knew it, he was back up in Dean's room, feeling about the same as he had before, and they resumed their prior positions.

Once the clock hit nine, Marian was back to tap on the door, announcing that visiting hours were over.

Sam figured Dean would have fought to stay by his bedside, and he had, but after the day Sam had been through, there wasn't much fight in him to argue and possibly get kicked out. "Know of any places to stay for the night on the…less expensive side?" Sam asked, having not seen many cheap little motels in the sprawling metropolis that was New York.

Marian thought for a moment before she nodded. "'bout…five miles east there's a few. About a hundred per night, but there's free wifi and some have breakfast. That's the best I got," she explained with a small smile.

Sam looked to Cas, who shrugged, seeming rather indifferent regarding the topic of motels. "That's great, thank you." He cast another glance to Dean and out of the corner of his eye watched Cas do the same. "Can you-can you have someone call if-"

"If anything happens, one of the on duty staff will contact you," Marian gently cut him off and assured. She waited another few moments before she ushered them out of the room. "You two have a nice night, get some rest," she regarded the two of them, smiled again, and started off back down the hallway.

Sam and Cas stayed in the hallway for another minute or so, silently contemplating what to do.

"Free wifi, that should be helpful," Cas mentioned, looking over Sam, who wasn't exactly keen on moving. "We'll come back first thing, Sam," he added, to which the younger brother nodded, as if he needed the extra reassurance.

"Yeah," Sam replied absently, "let's see what New York motels are made of."

As they began walking away from the room, Sam half expected to hear a flurry of alarming noises coming from Dean's room, but there was nothing. As they walked, the beeping gradually blended into the rest of the sounds in the hospital until Sam couldn't hear it any more.

* * *

They ended up checking into the Bluebird motel, which was only four or so miles from the hospital, and traffic hadn't been exactly awful. It was definitely better than some of the motels they had stayed at, as Dean may need a few days out of the hospital before they could hit the road again.

Sam waited in the car while Cas got them checked in, and soon they were in another generic motel room. Two beds, bathroom, tiny kitchenette, the usual. Of course, their situation was anything but usual, but at least the familiar scenery helped a little.

Sam finished up his next mental list by taking a shower (which was done with some amount of difficulty), checking his injury, changing bandages, then food, meds, and bed. It was a rather monotonous list, as many of his mental ones tended to be, but it kept him busy.

When he got out of the shower, Cas had taken up residence on the bed closest to the door. He was fully clothed, sitting on top of the covers, and flipping through various channels on the television. Sam couldn't figure if the angel had done it on purpose or not, but having another person in the bed that had been empty in their last few stops was a bit of a comfort.

"I'll keep the volume low, visiting hours open again at ten, so I set an alarm for nine," Cas explained as he turned down the volume, having settled on some old black and white movie.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam smiled a little and got into his own bed, looking at the movie for a few minutes with Cas.

"I remember when you, well not you specifically, but your species, first discovered recording," Cas said, almost wistfully, eyes still on the old film in front of them. "Of course, they were nothing but many pictures taken in succession and flipped through quickly, but they were very proud. Eventually they tried adding music, and cards with words on them. You flocked to these features, and you still do, even though the black and white films have become less…common. I still find them enjoyable, another reminder of how far humanity has come. Do you like black and white features, Sam?"

He turned to look at Sam, and a small smile crossed his face when he saw the younger Winchester had fallen asleep at his rambling, just as the angel had hoped he would.

* * *

 _Only one week for an update! Nanowrimo is definitely helping ;) As always, hope you guys enjoyed. If you could, reviews are always an appreciated little gift thing, letting me know if you like the story or if there are some things that need a bit of changing. As it stands right now, the next chapter will either be all flashback to the werewolf hunt or 3/4 flashback and the rest more hospital stuff. Any preferences as to which? I'm shooting for an update next weekend, so stay tuned!_


	10. Chapter 10

_10 chapters in! All flashbacks this time, back to the hospital next chapter, and there's some fun stuff planned, so stick around! Big thanks to Duxe and DearHart for their reviews last chapter! I hope everyone has a happy Thanksgiving and hopefully a good few days off!_

* * *

 _Sam could say that things moved in slow motion after he was shot, but in all honesty, they didn't. The pain spread through his chest and down his limbs like someone had put gasoline in his veins and set his chest on fire. It rushed through and consumed him, making him almost limp across the ground as the werewolf tried to dig his claws into him._

 _Luckily for Sam, he never got the chance, as there was a final gunshot and the body jerked and rolled to the side of him. He would have been relieved had it not been for the fact that he couldn_ _'t get much more than half a breath in._

 _"_ _Sammy?" Dean called as he put his gun back and ran to Sam's side, dropping down next to him to assess the damage. He pulled away Sam's jacket and looked at the entrance wound, hoping there was an exit one too. "Hang on, Sammy, just a quick check-"_

 _Sam gasped as Dean gently lifted up his shoulder to check for an exit wound from his back._

 _"_ _We've got an exit wound, you'll be just fine," Dean assured quickly, and let Sam gently back to the ground as he looked around frantically for something to use to stop the bleeding. Having found nothing in the room, Dean stood up and went into the kitchen, where he was sure he had seen a towel earlier before everything went to hell._

 _Sam was still on the ground and gasping when he got back with a hand towel and pressed it gently to his wound._ _"Okay okay okay," he muttered, and Sam could practically see the gears turning in his head. "Okay, I can't patch this up here, Sam, and I know how much you hate hospitals but-"_

 _It was how much they both hated hospitals that was making Dean hesitate. Sam_ _'s heart began pumping even faster when he realized that Dean had admitted, with no fight or argument, that Sam needed a hospital. It meant that this was bad._

 _"_ _Gotta get you up, back to Baby, and those nice hospital folks will get you patched up, good as new, how does that sound, Sammy?"_

 _Sam didn_ _'t nod or agree or smile, he just gave his brother a look that he hoped he perceived as understanding. Of course Dean did, he knew how to read his baby brother like a book, even when he was hurt, especially when he was hurt._

 _"_ _Okay, on three, we're getting you up, keep pressure on that," Dean directed. He placed one of Sam's hands onto the towel that was covering the front of the wound and Sam pressed as much as he could without blacking out. Dean gave him a count of three as promised; this was no time for skipping two and three to avoid thinking about the pain to come from, say, a dislocated shoulder._

 _Spots danced in front of Sam_ _'s eyes as Dean practically heaved him off the ground and got one arm slung around his shoulder, the other one still holding the towel to the wound. "See? Easy peasy," Dean muttered, to which Sam weakly nodded. There would have been more groaning on Sam's part, but that would require opening his mouth and using his lungs more than he had to."You good to start walking?" It wasn't as much of a question as it was a statement, because they needed to go, but Sam nodded again all the same._

 _With leaning half his body onto Dean, they managed to make it out of the cabin and into the forest._ _"See? Easy. No more werewolves to take out, the car's closer, you got me here to annoy you, we're much better off than last time. All we need is a chauffeur to the hospital."_

 _Dean_ _'s attempts to bring levity to the situation were somewhat working, as this scenario was better than the last werewolf hunt they had been on. Though Sam still definitely did not appreciate being shot and he missed being able to breathe properly and-_

 _"_ _Hey, hey, hey, Sammy, need you to stay upright," Dean chided gently, but even in his not fully there state, Sam could hear the worry underneath his words. He straightened up a bit more and they continued stumbling towards the car through the forest._

 _All the while, Sam couldn_ _'t help but think that this hunt was a perfect mix of two of the worst scenarios they had practically ever had. A was the obvious other werewolf hunt and B…_

 _Sam looked to his brother through bangs that had fallen down in front of his face. B_ _…Sam holding Dean up with a hand to stop a chest wound after being wounded by Metatron. Both of those scenarios hadn't ended well for either of them._

 _"_ _Yeah, well this one will be different." Dean's voice shocked him a bit, how could he have known what he was thinking? "Your brain to mouth filter is even worse than usual, Sammy, quit thinking and walk, this will all end fine, you'll see."_

 _Sam registered that they had stopped for a moment for Dean to look up at him, determination and worry both set in his eyes. It could have just been Sam_ _'s eyes playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn that Dean looked a shade paler upon hearing what Sam had said. When they started walking again, it was at a faster pace, and Sam knew exactly why. He didn't exactly speak his mind unless he was a bit delirious, and severe blood loss could do that to a person and…he should probably stop thinking._

 _The further they walked, the more Sam began leaning on Dean for literal support until his brother was the only thing propping him up. The dark leaves and twigs beneath their feet began to blur and the trees seemed to spin around them._

 _Dean must have noticed this because he started talking. Sam wasn_ _'t sure about what specifically, but he was rambling on about something. He'd get words here or there. A band name, or a favorite food, or a question as to why Sam liked something that Dean hated, namely…was it salads in this case? Whatever it was, it kept a half smirk, half grimace on Sam's face._

 _They kept walking and Dean kept talking, his voice low and steady next to Sam_ _'s head. While the world kept spinning, that was the one thing that stayed the same, and Sam used it as an anchor._

 _His chest burned and hurt and felt something awful. He couldn_ _'t get a full breath in at all, and out was even more shaky. Besides walking and listening to Dean, he was really just focusing on not coughing, because that definitely wouldn't help things._

 _When he stumbled over a branch that he couldn_ _'t see in his darkening vision, Dean was there to quickly right him and prop him up again. "You good?"_

 _Sam would have loved to reply_ _"oh yeah, aces, just a hole in my chest", but he couldn't. Dean took his free hand and pushed Sam's hair back for a moment so he could see his face. Even in the darkness, Sam could tell his hand was shaking a bit. He rested it on the side of Sam's face and nodded, mainly to himself. "Of course you're good, you've only got a freaking hole in your chest and can't breathe or talk, right, Sammy?"_

 _Sam_ _'s smirk must have been enough of a give away because Dean lightly tapped the side of Sam's face in reassurance before they started walking again. Of course he knew what Sam was thinking, and Sam hadn't expected anything less._

 _Eventually, after being trapped in his head for who knew how long, Dean excitedly announced that they were back at the car. Sam looked up through bleary eyes and a gaze half hidden by sweat drenched bangs, but there Baby was, gleaming ever so slightly in the dark forest. He would have let out a sigh of relief, but he_ _…couldn't._

 _"_ _We'll get you nice and situated and on our way to a hospital in no time," Dean kept muttering. He talked more when he got nervous. It wasn't anything important, just little nothings meant to reassure Sam as much as himself. He maneuvered the two of them to the passenger side and opened the door with his semi free hand. "You've gotta sit down for me, Sammy, okay?"_

 _Sam nodded as much as he could, knowing the change in position and more compression on his chest wouldn_ _'t feel any better. Dean lowered Sam onto the seat as easily and gently as he could, but Sam still groaned at the spikes of pain the whole way down. When he was finally situated, it was barely inside the car._

 _"_ _Okay, stay upright for ten seconds, let me grab the med kit, okay?"_

 _There it was again, the_ _'okay?' as if he expected Sam to reply but knew he wouldn't. Sam nodded again and Dean closed the door after making sure Sam was clear. As promised, ten seconds and some rummaging around in the trunk later, the guns they had brought with them were replaced with a med kit that Dean brought around to the front seat before he too sat down and closed the door._

 _"_ _Gauze gauze gauze," he muttered under his breath as he hurriedly flipped through the kit, bloodstained fingers leaving marks all over the white plastic. "Aha! Bingo!" he said triumphantly, and held up a wad of white fabric._

 _Sam tried to quirk a smile at his brother, but he ended up just somewhat falling over onto his shoulder, which was better than the door in his mind._

 _"_ _There we go, get comfortable, I'm just gonna switch this out real fast, then you keep pressure on it, you hear?"_

 _Sam blinked in affirmation, which was easier to do than nodding. Dean carefully moved Sam_ _'s hand away and surveyed the wound for a split second before he swapped out the towel for the wad of gauze and placed Sam's hand back on it. Sam figured he must gave gone a shade paler, because the sudden fear in Dean's eyes was enough to make Sam's heart start pumping a bit faster than it already was._

 _"_ _On the road again," Dean muttered quickly and turned the Impala on, threw it into drive, and began driving out the way they had come._

 _With the absence of music, the only sound in the car aside from the usual rumbling of the engine were Sam_ _'s increasingly wheezing breaths. He leaned more against Dean's shoulder, using it to keep himself upright._

 _The minimal streetlights on the highway or_ _…wherever they were passed by faster than they should have, so either he was imagining things or Dean was driving much too quickly. It was probably a combination of both if he thought of it. It was-_

 _"_ _Sammy, I need you to stay awake and upright, okay? Almost there, man, hang on," he said hurriedly, and spared his brother a glance from the road. He looked back to the windshield before he reached his right hand up and pressed it against Sam's wound, adding some extra pressure where Sam's had been gradually failing._

 _Even in his state, he could tell that the gauze was starting to soak through. The Impala slowed with Dean_ _'s new driving position, but they kept moving all the same._

 _Kept moving and moving and moving and soon trees turned into buildings and_ _…Sam's dizzy mind couldn't keep up with it all. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes and he suddenly couldn't get a breath in. He pressed on the gauze a bit harder, gasping as the added pressure did nothing to help the drowning in his lungs._

 _"_ _Sam? Sam? What's going on, talk to me," Dean commanded, his voice low and thick with worry and fear. He pressed his hand down on the wound and his foot down on the gas. "Breathe, man, ride it out."_

 _Sam wished he could tell Dean that_ _'s exactly what he was trying to do, he knew what he should be doing, but he couldn't. He absolutely couldn't, and with a lack of blood and a lack of air, darkness began taking over his vision._

 _His head began to lull to the side and his hand went lax over the gauze._

 _"_ _Sam? Sammy! Hang on, okay, almost into town, I need you to stay awake for me, I can't pull off to wake you up and get you to a hospital at the same time. Sam? Sa-"_

 _That was all Sam got before he went limp against the seat, the buildings and streetlights vanishing under the waves of blackness._


	11. Chapter 11

_November 19 5:32pm_

The door to the room opening and closing was what brought Sam back out of the memory. The darkness faded away to the stark white lights of the hospital and the Impala's leather seat was replaced with a semi-comfortable hospital chair. Cas was standing in the doorway with another cup of coffee, and offered Sam a smile before he passed it down to him.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said appreciatively, grateful for another aid to help keep him up.

"It was no trouble," the angel shook his head and sat down in the other chair. His eyes ghosted over Dean, still in the coma, before they settled back on Sam. "How did your call go?"

"Good," Sam nodded and honestly smiled for the first time that day. "Yeah, just Jody's usual monthly check in. I filled her in and she wanted to come right down here, I told her we had it handled and we'd call if we needed anything. Alex and Claire are both safe and doing well," he added.

After almost a week filled with nothing but beeping, a comatose Dean, and a not so talkative Cas, it had been nice to hear a different voice. It was always good to talk to Jody, but this time was especially helpful. Not just for the reassurances, but for a few other things.

Four days passed by with the two of them sitting around before Sam started looking for things on his phone. Simple odd cases that anyone could handle. He passed them off to other hunters that he knew wouldn't mind a few days of work, given that he and Cas were quite preoccupied but still wanted to help.

Jody had been able to fill in some missing information for a few cases, which went a long way. Until Dean woke up, that was how they were keeping busy and avoiding thinking about worst cases scenarios too much.

Sam had gotten an email from Mick a day after the meeting was supposed to have been held, and, following a few more messages back and forth of explaining, they had settled on the fact that they would discuss the matter further after Dean was back to a hundred percent.

Cas had a fond smile on his face as he nodded back. "That is definitely good news, thank you for checking in with them."

"Yeah, no problem," Sam replied before he lightly closed his laptop. "Any news on this end of the spectrum?"

Cas shrugged his shoulders a bit. "I spoke briefly with Dr. Monroe about his condition, and he seemed to believe that Dean should be waking up soon. Unless they missed something in the scans, he had a relatively high GCS, which should lend itself to a higher rate of survival and less permanent injuries…" Cas trailed off and shook his head a little.

"Of course, every case is different, it just depends on Dean. Though, I have been reading, and some people believe that they can hear what is said around them, even in this state."

Sam cast another glance towards Dean, as he had been reading up on similar facts. It was an interesting idea, and in a way it was also strangely comforting. Sam had been talking to him…a lot, in hopes that maybe just his voice and presence would bring him around again.

Everything he talked about was positive. Good memories, some talk about rock music, different meals Dean could try to cook when he got better. Because somewhere deep in Sam's mind, he knew that if Dean was struggling to come out of the coma, he needed something to come out for. While Sam himself would probably be enough, some reminders that the world wasn't all crap couldn't hurt the situation.

"I found that to be…oddly comforting in a way," Cas mentioned, his head slightly tilted as he too looked to the hunter in the bed. His complexion was a bit better, as it had been becoming less grey over the past few days. His head was still thoroughly bandaged though.

Sam let out a breathy laugh between his hand, which he had brought up to rest on his chin. He caught the questioning look Cas threw him and just shook his head slightly. "Was just thinking the same thing," he replied. They stayed like that for the better part of fifteen minutes, just sitting and watching, as if the mere talk of Dean getting out of the coma could make it happen.

"You mind watching him? I gotta stretch my legs, you know…"

Cas nodded in affirmation. "Of course, Sam, take as long as you need."

Sam smiled appreciatively and got up out of the chair, leaving his laptop in his place. His joints cracked a bit as he did so, but the pain in his chest was less intense. One positive of being cooped up in a hospital all day long was that he wasn't doing strenuous activity to stress out the wound, so it could actually heal.

Even in their week or so there, they had developed their own little habits. Two or three times a day, Sam would take a walk around the hospital to get some fresh air. If there were no problems with Dean and the weather was decent, he'd walk to one of the parks that was nearby, loop around it, and be back in twenty minutes. Of course, nice was relative when it came to New York.

As long as the temperature didn't dip below forty-five and there weren't small piles of snow on the ground, a walk was possible. Sam was just glad they had remembered to pack plenty of jackets before the trip.

If he was stir crazy when Dean woke up, that wouldn't be beneficial, so he was trying to make the best of a bad situation. A little bit of cold air did good to wake him up and keep him moving. By the time Sam came back, his head was a bit clearer and he was ready for another few hours of brotherly watch duty.

Every time when he came back, he did so slowly and quietly. The past few days, Cas had been talking to Dean to, similarly to what Sam himself did when he was in the room alone. The first time he noticed it, he…didn't, and walked in on Cas in the middle of a sentence, mouth still open when Sam came in. He hadn't meant to disturb the angel, so every time following, he had always approached slowly. Sam stood by the door for a few seconds, comforted by the sound of the angel's voice in the room. Angels were in fact watching over his brother, and it made Sam smirk.

"-doing well. He'd be doing better if the situation were better, but he's alright, I just wanted to assure you of that."

By catching the tail end of that conversation, Sam hurried into the room, half expecting Dean to be suddenly awake and up in bed, talking like nothing had happened. When he got into the room, it was still Cas in the chair, a bit more bent over towards Dean than before, and his eyes were still closed.

"Sam? Did you have a good walk?" Cas asked, not missing a beat even with Sam's hurried entrance.

"Hm? Yeah, it was fine, sun's out today, makes the cold a bit more bearable," Sam nodded. He took off his two jackets and hung them up on the back of the chair. He then picked up his laptop again and let it rest in his lap as he went to sit down.

The silence in the room was only broken up by the beeping, which had become more consistent over the past few days. The doctors assured them that this was a good sign, but Sam was still wary of any dramatic changes.

Sam was going back and forth in his head about whether or not to look for another case when the beeping began to speed up. It was an audible increase in beats, and it had Sam up and out of his seat before anything else could happen.

"Is something wrong?" Cas asked, visibly worried as he too got up and looked over Dean from the other side of the bed.

"I…I don't know," Sam said quietly. He had Dean's hand in his again, which wasn't as cold as it had been before. He was bent slightly over his brother, his other hand hovering over the call button in case something should be going very, very wrong. "Dean? You up?"

It was a question that went floating through the air in the room, but didn't meet any ears besides Cas' and his own. The increased beeping continued, but didn't get any higher, and there weren't any other visible signs of stress. Maybe he was just…dreaming?

Sam kept perfectly still for the next five or so minutes, worried that any movement on his part would make something happen, good or bad he didn't know.

"Sam?" the angel asked, having not moved from his own position.

The younger brother's eyes were still on his older sibling. "Yeah, I think he's okay, probably just…dreaming, I don't know," he shook his head, his own heart still pounding in his chest, as if waiting for an attack. Sam dropped his finger from the call button and sighed. It only took another second for him to make up his mind that his chair needed to be closer, and started to get up to bring it in.

His hand loosened in Dean's a bit so he could reach back, but as he did so, his hand didn't want to go back any further. That was when he felt a slight tickle on his palm and immediately turned back around.

"Dean?" Sure enough, his brother's fingers were curled around his own, where they hadn't been before. Of course, it could just be an unconscious comatose movement, but Sam was hoping for better. He needed better after this past week. "If you're awake, I need you to give me a sign, man, so this isn't just comatose muscle movements or something."

Cas was eyeing the brothers curiously from Dean's other side, waiting for signs of movement as well. They were waiting for signs of…anything, really.

But there wasn't anything. Dean's hand remained curled around Sam's, a bit more than before, but it stayed that way. Any time Sam tried to reach back to grab the chair, his brother's grip stopped him. He was holding onto Sam, either consciously or not.

Eventually Cas moved Sam's chair closer so he could sit down and then moved his own and sat down on the opposite side. Sam continued to watch his brother closely, only changing his perspective to look at the monitors by the bed. Dean's breathing was consistent, as was his slightly elevated pulse.

Every so often, Sam would jostle their hands a bit, hoping for another bit of movement, but it never came.

If Dean were in the room, he'd probably be laughing at the scene in front of him and how much it looked like a damned movie. Through the laughing though, he'd tell Sam to quit his worrying because he'd be fine and he'd make a full recovery. A little traumatic brain injury wasn't going to keep Dean Winchester down, and Sam should know better.

He'd probably more or less apologize eventually, having seen that his joking was grating on Sam, who wasn't happy about the fact that he had almost lost his brother again. Dean would sober up, and again assure Sam that he was fine and that he wasn't going anywhere.

If only he'd just wake up, that's how Sam was guessing the scenario would play itself out. They'd been here too many times, Sam knew how it was supposed to go. He knew that-

In the middle of his mental ramblings and worrying, the pressure on his hand increased again. Sam immediately looked back over his brother and squeezed his hand back. He wasn't expecting anything, it was just an unconscious muscle response to Sam's hand, an added pressure of sorts. Which was why when Dean squeezed back, ever so slightly, but it was there, Sam's face lit up in a smile.

"Cas, I think he's-" Sam started excitedly, and looked up to see the angel smiling at the two of them too. "De-" he cut himself off again when he looked back to Dean.

Because staring back at him, through bleary, partially unfocused eyes, was Dean. Tired and probably not all there in the best capacity, but _awake._

* * *

 _So Dean's finally awake and somewhat on the road to recovery! Or is he? We'll start to see very shortly ;) Having a bit of writer's block at the moment, here's hoping it passes soon. Dear readers, thank you for, well, reading! Celtic Knot, thank you for your review! To Imtheonewhofeelinglost, I very much appreciate it, thanks! Until hopefully next week! (Also, am I the only one that didn't care much for this week's episode? They were doing so well!)_


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn't until Dean's eyes were open that Sam realized how much he had missed seeing them. It had been almost ten days since Dean had looked back at him, and that very simple gesture seemed to mean the world in that very moment.

Still, Sam got over his shock and squeezed Dean's hand again before he pressed the call button, hoping that Marian or someone else would be able to get into the room before Dean passed out again.

"Dean? Are you…" Cas trailed off, not sure how to finish his question. Dean's eyes tiredly drifted over to Cas, and Sam watched the usually unfazed angel visibly tense up at the gaze. Eventually Dean looked back over to Sam, but nothing else moved besides his eyes and his hand a bit in Sam's.

A minute later, there was a slight tap at the door and Marian walked in. "Got the buzz at the station, there a problem?" she asked, clipboard in hand. As she walked up closer to the bed, she smiled upon seeing that Dean was up. "Tired, but green nonetheless," she nodded, and jotted a few things down onto her notepad before she looked to Sam and Cas.

"If you don't mind going into the waiting room, I just need to check a few things, see how he is, shouldn't take longer than fifteen minutes."

Sam was reluctant to leave Dean's side so soon after he had woken up, but he knew better than to fight with a nurse in the ICU. "Thanks," he nodded back and stood up. It took a moment to get Dean's hand disengaged from his own, and afterwards Dean's eyes didn't leave him.

Cas followed suit and soon the two of them were out the door and on their way to the waiting room. They sat down unceremoniously in semi-cracked chairs with a collective sigh before Sam ran a hand over his face. Dean had been in the coma, what, eight days? Most comas lasted one to two weeks from what he heard, so while it wasn't exactly a good scenario, it could have been a lot worse.

"It is good to see him awake again," Cas said, almost absently. Sam cast a glance over his friend, who was smiling to himself at he stared at the empty wall across from where they were seated.

"Yeah, you're telling me," Sam agreed. "He'll probably be really tired for a few days, but hopefully he can build up from here and eventually work his way back to normal. Best case scenarios and all."

Cas nodded back in agreement and the two of them sat in silence until Marian came back, clipboard and capped pen in hand. In her other, she carried Sam's laptop and jackets. The two men rose to greet her and she smiled a bit. "How is he?" Cas asked before Sam could get the words out.

Marian passed off Sam's things to him before she replied. "Resting now. The first few days after a patient has been in a coma are critical, they usually don't remain up for very long, but eventually they can hold small conversations and gradually build up," Marian informed. "It's definitely a relief to see him awake," she nodded slightly and looked at something on the sheet.

Sam knew the look on her face well enough; it was one he had to wear himself many times in their line of work. It was the look of bad news to come. "Is there a 'but' to follow that?" he asked quietly.

She finished looking at a few papers for another moment before she looked up and sighed. "Hard to say. We'll see how he progresses over the next few days. He just woke up, so there was no attempt at verbal communication just yet. Some of his scans showed what could be damage, but we'd have to get another, more recent scan to see if it's healed."

"Damage? As in brain damage?" Sam clarified, pretty sure that he had gone a shade paler at the mere thought of it. Hunting aside, brain damage was never something to be taken lightly, especially after a crash. He looked back to Cas, who had a similar expression to his own on his face as he took in the information.

Years ago before the angels fell, he could have probably fixed something like this with nothing more than a touch on the forehead and some angel juice. Now, they had to deal with it like everyone else.

"As in brain damage," Marian affirmed. "It could be nothing, again, we'll have to wait and see how he progresses. I'm going to see if we can't get him in for a scan tonight, it's unlikely he'll be up much again," she took a quick glance at her watch. "You two should probably head back to where you're staying, just let him rest for tonight, we'll fill you in when you come back in the morning."

Sam tried to nod because of course she was right, but Dean had just woken up. He should be there beside him in case anything happened and Dean needed him. Dean was always there when Sam needed him, so he had to reciprocate what had been done for all those years. "Are you sure?"

Marian gave him a small smile, looked to Cas, and nodded. "Trust me on this one, Sam."

"I do, not saying I don't, I just want to make sure," Sam corrected quickly, but Marian was already politely holding up a hand.

"I know you are. Worrying in the room won't help anything. So you two get some rest, Dean will get some rest, and we'll all meet back in the morning, alright?"

Again, Cas was the one nodding for both of them even though he still looked deep in thought. "We understand, thank you, Marian."

She smiled again and turned to leave. "You two drive safe now, if anything comes up, someone will contact you." She waited for another moment before she started walking back the way she came, still carrying the clipboard and pen.

The angel and the hunter kept standing in the waiting room, unsure of what to do next. Sam kept looking between his laptop, the floor, and Cas until the angel jingled the Impala's keys in his pocket and sighed.

"In the morning then," he said quietly. "Come on, Sam, some rest will do you some good."

Again, Sam couldn't fight that fact, and it would be pointless to do so. Cas began walking down the hall towards the elevator, shoes echoing on the tile floor. Sam cast another glance down the hall where they had come from, down the hall where his now partially awake brother lie all alone…Sam followed Cas down the hallway before he could turn around and go back to Dean.

* * *

 _The first thing Sam registered when he started coming to was that the car had stopped. He wasn't sure how long it had been stopped for, but it couldn't have been long because it was still warm inside. The next thing he registered was that he was no longer propped up against Dean because Dean was no longer in the car._

 _"_ _D'n?" he breathed out and blinked, trying to clear some of the fog from his vision as if it would help. He tried twisting to see if he was getting something out of the trunk, which only reignited the fire in his lungs and made sure that the next few moments were spend in complete stillness._

 _Eventually, the car door opened and a flurry of voices began pouring in. Dean_ _'s was the first that he recognized, and it turned out to be the only one. His hand was light and comforting on his shoulder._

 _"_ _Heya, Sammy, good to see you up. Listen, we're here at the hospital, and we need to get you out of the car so these nice doctors and nurses can patch you up, alright?"_

 _Sam was sure that if he could have seen Dean, he would have been half smiling to hide the fact that he was deathly worried about his little brother bleeding out on the Impala_ _'s seats. He wanted to remind his brother that he wasn't five anymore, but instead he just nodded weakly, though moving wasn't sounding like the best option at the moment._

 _"_ _Great. Just hang on and stay awake for me, okay?"_

 _There it was again, the_ _'alright?', the 'okay?', as if Sam had any say in the matter. He wasn't going anywhere, if he had any say in that at least._

 _Before he knew it, there were multiple hands on him gently sliding him towards the passenger side door of the car._

 _"_ _We've got a gurney here and we're going to get you up and then laid out onto it, Sam, I need you to stay with us," came a new voice, a young female if he was hearing correctly. Sam blinked slowly in affirmation that yes, he had heard and understood even though he'd much rather not move and go back to being unconscious._

 _There was a count to three and then he was lifted up onto the gurney and given a moment to try and catch his breath before he was laid down. Of course, catching his breath didn_ _'t exactly work and he ended up painfully gasping more than anything else._

 _"_ _There we go, see, nice and easy, like it always is, Sammy, they're gonna take care of you."_

 _Dean was standing right above him in his field of vision as the people around him got the gurney set. There was a streak of blood on his cheek, probably from where he had absentmindedly wiped a hand across it. It was dark outside save for a few streetlights, but his eyes were still as green as ever. Someone attached some sort of oxygen mask to his face which first felt confining, but then vaguely freeing. From there, everything began to spin again and the gurney began to move, rough and grating under the wheels._

 _"_ _You're gonna be just fine, just fine, you hang on for me, Sammy," Dean reminded._

 _Soon they were passing through a set of doors and then another one and there were some very bright lights. It was only when the voices of everyone else started getting so loud that Sam realize she couldn_ _'t hear Dean's any more._

* * *

 _November 20, 10:47am_

It had been eleven days since he had last heard Dean's voice. And yeah, Sam was aware of how cheesy it sounded, which was why he would never repeat it to Dean directly, but still, the thought weighed on him.

Marian had been in earlier to tell them that Dean had been up a few more times, the longest being for a span of seven and a half minutes. There had been no talking, but there were a few blinks, so he was able to communicate to a degree. Though she did mention that he seemed very confused, which was normal with patients coming out of a coma.

More worrying though than his confusion were unfortunately the scans. From what they could tell, it was possible that there was some damage to Dean's hippocampus that he had endured when the plane went down. Again, it could just be nothing, but they were going to have to 'wait and see how Dean progressed'. While it was a somewhat hopeful sentiment, because Dean was getting better, Sam was growing to hate it. He wanted to know what was wrong and what he could do to fix it, it was simple…and it wasn't.

Since he and Cas had been in the room, Dean had woken up one more time, but it was just another few confused glances and then his eyes fell shut again. When Sam looked over to Cas, he could see that the angel was just as lost about what to do in the situation as he was.

Still, Dean was waking up and getting better, and Sam just had to keep reminding himself of that.

* * *

 _A bit of a flashback, a bit of an awake Dean :) It's a bit of a slow build but we're getting there so thanks for reading and sticking around! To DearHart, Celtic Knot, Bjester74, Persephone Lupin, and TXKimsonFan, thank you all for your comments, they mean the world :) Onto chapter 13 next week, see you then!_


	13. Chapter 13

_A few notes on this chapter: It's a bit longer because due to finals, I'll be missing an update next week, so sorry! But Dean's making progress...well, you'll see. Big thanks to TheEliteLabRatsLover, Celtic Knot, Persephone Lupin, and freetobescary for the reviews! To the guest, I hope you enjoy what this chapter has in store ;)_

 _If I owned Supernatural, which I don't, I'd try to shorten midseason finale breaks because come on!_

* * *

 _November 21, 12:52pm_

The bandages on Dean's head had been changed, and there didn't seem to be any external complications, which was good. He had been up for half an hour at a time, but there was still no movement as to vocalization, he was just…silent and confused.

Sam had since limited his walks to once per day, half so that he could get a break and time to himself and half so that Cas would have some time to talk to Dean. When Cas was gone, Sam kept talking. He talked about memories, again, anything happy that may bring a smile to his brother's face.

Right before one, Cas headed out again with the promise to return with something to eat. Sam nodded silently, the door was open and shut, and then it was just the steady beeping that filled the remaining silence.

"First time I ever broke a bone and had to stay overnight," Sam began absently, looking between his brother in the bed and his hands in his lap, "you snuck in, I don't know how, and brought me ice cream. The nurses were so pissed when they found out," he chuckled just a little, "but it was the best night in a hospital that I ever had."

When he looked back to Dean, the older hunter's eyes were barely open and not totally focused, but still open. "So, um, sorry I haven't brought you any ice cream yet, I know how much you hate hospitals." Sam tried for a smile and moved his chair ever so slightly towards the bed so he could get a better look at Dean.

His eyes were open more now as he watched Sam, though he still seemed confused. It wasn't a look that Sam often saw on his brother's face, and it was never one he had gotten used to. Dean seemed to always know what to do, and even when he didn't, the false bravado could convince anyone that he did.

"You with me?" Sam asked quietly. He waited, not expecting any kind of verbal response, but when Dean blinked slowly and then opened his eyes again to focus on Sam, he took it as a win. They had vaguely established a 'one blink for yes, two for no' system that had been working until he could get much of his speech back. "Missed, you, man, glad you're back."

There was another slow blink as if Dean were saying 'me too', at least that's what made sense in Sam's head.

"I mean, I know what you'd probably say, you've been here the whole time, where the hell was I, yadayada," Sam shook his head and smirked.

Over the beeping and his own heart beating somewhat wildly at the prospect at being able to talk to Dean again, even though it was one sided, he almost missed the sound that came out of his brother's mouth.

It was nothing more than an elongated 's', but Sam could see through Dean's slightly scrunched features that he was trying as hard as he could. There was no doubt in his mind that the 's' belonged to him in some form.

"Yeah, Dean, it's me, still here," he said, with an actual smile this time, because this was actual progress. Sounds could turn into words which could turn into conversations and answers and no more worries.

Dean closed his mouth again and looked at Sam, still confused, as if he were trying to figure him out somehow. He wasn't scared, he looked almost…wary, if Sam had to put a word on it.

"What's wrong?" Sam looked around the room quickly, half expecting to see some creature lurking behind them or a nurse standing in the doorway observing their "conversation". But there was nothing, and the room was empty aside from the two brothers.

Dean opened his mouth slowly, as if he were trying to figure out how to put what he wanted to say into two words, or two syllables, whatever he could manage. His eyes still blinked somewhat lazily, but there was an alertness in them that Sam hadn't seen since he had been awake.

" 'old," Dean muttered, his eyes looking right at Sam as if they could se through him.

Sam looked his brother over and nodded. "Cold, right? Yeah, I'll see if I can grab another blanket, it gets cold in here and it's literally freezing outside…" Sam trailed off because Dean was very visibly blinking his eyes twice in succession since he couldn't shake his head. "Not…cold then? You're good? No blankets?" Dean blinked once and Sam sagged back against the chair, not sure what he was supposed to do with that one word.

Dean did his best to repeat it again, to which Sam nodded again, still trying to decipher it. No other letters made sense in front of it, so was it just… "Old?" Sam asked.

Dean blinked once, as if he were relieved that Sam had finally gotten it, but he was still confused.

"What, I'm old? Dean, you're the older brother in the hospital right now, if you could see in a mirror-"

Sam cut himself off again for a different reason, to take a look at the ground for a split second. Because if Dean could see how he looked, he definitely wouldn't like the face he saw staring back at him. When Sam looked up, Dean was blinking again, just once, and it was Sam's turn to be confused.

"First question? You're saying I'm…old?" Sam asked, doubting that Dean would be agreeing with him on the second part of what he had mentioned.

Dean blinked again in agreement. Sam pushed a hand through his hair and let out a small sigh, completely lost as to what Dean meant. He was probably just still loopy, or he was commenting on how old Sam looked with being all tired and in a hospital chair…yeah, that was probably it.

"Too old to be babysitting you in a hospital," Sam said quietly.

But no, that wasn't it, either. Dean was still looking at him with the same exact quizzical expression. Every so often, his eyes would scrunch and his lips would open, but he would either decide against it or become too tired to follow up. He was trying to speak, to let Sam know what he needed and wanted to get across, but he couldn't. The words were stuck, jumbled up in his own head as he struggled to make Sam understand.

And Sam didn't understand. For as well as he knew his brother, they had never encountered something of this magnitude before. "Old?" What was Sam supposed to do with that? Go through every single possible meaning and scenario and find one that Dean blinked once for? If he could even stay up that long?

"I-I don't," Sam let out a breath and shook his head. "I don't know what you mean, Dean," he admitted quietly, and dropped his gaze for a moment as he kept shaking his head. "I know you're trying to say something important, I know it, and you know I'm trying to get it."

One blink.

"But I just…I don't, not yet, and I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry I wasn't with you during all of this. I'm sorry I can't be of more help. I'm sorry I don't know what's going on in that hurting head of yours. I'm sorry I can't piece this together. I'm sorry that I haven't come up with a way to fix this.

There were tens of ways that his apology could be interpreted, and Sam could see the gears trying to turn in Dean's battered mind as he deciphered each meaning. Sam could still talk, and Dean could see behind it, even in his state, and Sam was utterly lost given that he couldn't do the same.

"We'll figure it out," Sam sighed and nodded after a few moments of silence. "You'll get back to normal, and we'll go back to the Bunker and get you healed up."

Dean blinked once again, but that confused look was still stuck on his face, and it only got worse when Sam mentioned the Bunker. Maybe he didn't want to think about leaving the hospital just yet, Sam couldn't blame him for it.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Marian came in for one of her checks, and smiled upon seeing Dean awake again. "There's those pretty green peepers I like seeing," she greeted happily, and went to get the clipboard on the bed to jot down a few things.

It may have been just Sam's imagination, but he could have sworn he saw Dean's mouth try to quirk upwards in a smirk.

"How is he?" Marian asked, which Sam knew Dean would hate, he hated when he was talked about in the third person when he was right there.

"Fine, yeah, good," Sam nodded and smiled a bit back. "A few words, the blinking system is working so far."

Marian nodded at that. "Sounds like you're being a fairly decent recovery patient then, Dean. We'll get you a bit better in no time and have you transferred into another ward as soon as you're feeling a bit better," she looked between the two brothers.

Getting Dean out of the ICU would definitely be a step up, and a sort of light at the end of one of the many tunnels they would have to go through. Sam and Marian made light small talk as Marian did a few checks on Dean, asking him to squeeze her finger or follow a pen with his eyes. A few of the tests he didn't necessarily pass, but the majority of them he was able to complete, which was as much of a sign of hope as Sam could expect.

* * *

 _November 23, 11:47am_

Sam was really growing to hate hospital chairs. They weren't the best, nor the worst thing in the world, but after almost a week of just hospital chairs, it was getting taxing. Still, sitting in the hospital chair was giving Sam a fairly decent view of what was going on.

Dean had been up more the past few days, so the nurses were working on extending his range of motion, as he was progressing in terms of what his body could manage. Today, that was sitting up on the side of the bed.

One of the nurses was in front of Dean and Sam was sitting in the chair off to the side, facing his brother. Seeing him attempt to move was so much better than watching him, motionless and pale in the bed. Seeing him up and around was just another reminder that he was there and that he was getting better.

Cas was standing at the foot of the bed, watching the scenario unfold. Sam still caught a look on his face sometimes, when Dean couldn't quite get words out or when he looked at them confused. Cas still looked…helpless, for lack of a better word. He wished he could help more, but he couldn't quite put it into words, and Sam couldn't correctly explain that Cas simply being there was all the help that he could give, and it would always be enough.

"Right, just going to get your legs off," the nurse instructed, "nice and slow."

Dean blinked once in affirmation, as a head nod or shake still hurt, but it was getting better. They had been able to downgrade from a complete wrapping to a semi-wrapping, as his wound was healing.

With some help from the nurse, he swung his legs off the bed and straightened his back. Ever the stubborn man, he blinked twice when the nurse tried to offer extra assistance.

"Really, don't strain yourself," she advised.

"Won't do much good," Sam mentioned with a bit of a smirk. Dean caught Sam's look and sent something like a smile back his way. "If Dean's anything other than a fast healer, he's stubborn, and he can sit up by himself."

The nurse looked back to Sam, a bit confused, to which Sam shook his head. "If he could talk, that's what he'd say," he explained.

She looked back to Dean with a bit of a smirk herself and shrugged. Dean took it as his opening and as soon as her hands dropped, he straightened again and braced his hands against the bed. Soon enough, he had his balance and his hands went to his knees and he was sitting up on the bed.

It was such a small thing and such a big thing at the exact same time that it had the whole room smiling. Even Dean, though he still looked wary and a bit annoyed at the fact that all he was doing was sitting. He could vault over fences and prop his feet up on tables, but hey, progress was progress.

"It's nice to see you up, Dean," Cas mentioned, to which Dean turned his head towards and smiled a bit again. It wasn't up as in standing, but it was progress.

* * *

Over the next few days, Dean went from sitting to standing and eventually to taking a few steps around the room. He has control over his body, which the doctors assured both Sam and Cas was a good thing. He eventually got moved from the ICU to the High Dependency Unit, where he also began meeting with a physical therapist. This meant that for a few hours a day, usually in the mornings, Sam and Cas had more time to spend at the motel, as they couldn't see Dean during that time.

The days became monotonous, but at least they were getting somewhere, Cas was sure to remind Sam of that. But still, the way Dean looked at him let Sam know that something wasn't quite right. He didn't shy away from Sam or Cas, but he was definitely still wary and confused.

The nurses assured that he could piece together a few sentences, but he hadn't said much around Sam or Cas for reasons unknown. It could, again, just be his stubbornness, but Sam knew his brother well enough to know that he'd be talking as much as he could to assure them both that yes, he was okay, and that they needed more beauty sleep. But he hadn't done anything of the sort, at least, not yet.

A week after Dean had been moved, Cas dropped Sam off at the hospital before he went back to the motel to help get some information on a case that they had handed off to one of the other hunters. Sam had assured him time and time again that yes, he was fine visiting Dean alone for a day, but Cas was still wary. Eventually, Sam was alone in the room with Dean and a looming promise over his head to text Cas once an hour or if something came up.

Dean had been looking at the small television in the corner of the room for the better part of fifteen minutes, but as soon as Sam had shifted his position in his chair, Dean's eyes were back on him. The same confusion and wary were still present, even with all the assurances that Dean was healing a bit ahead of schedule.

"Dean…?" Sam finally broke the silence in the room as he leaned a bit forward in the chair. His brother shifted in the bed, but didn't break his gaze with him. "You…you sure everything's okay? You just keep looking at me like…I don't know, but I also don't know what to do about it, and you stopped talking to Cas and I…" he trailed off, waiting for an explanation that may never come.

Dean kept looking at him, and Sam could see the gears turning in his battered mind. Even now, Dean was debating on how much of the truth he should tell Sam.

"Look, Dean, don't lie about this, not after everything, whatever you're worried about, don't, I need to know what's going on," Sam said honestly, but quietly. After all this time, he was too tired to beat around the bush when it came to Dean's health and mental state, especially when something was so obviously wrong.

"Yeah," was the quiet response from the hunter in the bed. Sam was half shocked by it, it was the first word he had heard from his brother in almost two weeks. Dean looked between the bed and Sam before he finally shook his head just a fraction. There were wheels turning in his brother's mind, the endless struggle about whether or not to tell Sam about what was really bothering him. "How…" he tried for the words, "how are you…here?"

Sam tilted his head, not really understanding, again, what Dean was getting at. "Cas and I heard about the crash on the news, we drove over, he's back at the motel, he dropped me off," Sam explained patiently, because yes, he had been told time and time again that Dean could forget simple things like that as he was healing.

Dean shook his head about as much as he could.

"Not that?" Sam asked and ran a hand down his face, and blinked a few times before he nodded. "Okay, can you do…one more sentence? I just need to know what blanks to fill in here," he said, as gently as he could.

Dean pursed his lips ever so slightly, but his gaze didn't waver from Sam's. "Hell." It was just one simple word, but again, Sam was lost on its many literal and figurative meanings.

"It's been hell on me? Hell on you? Hell here?" Sam asked, knowing he was asking too many things at once, but he was also just struggling so very hard to understand what his brother needed to.

"No. Hell. You," Dean said, a bit disjointed, and it wasn't because of the injury, it was because there were tears shining in his eyes. "You're in hell."


	14. Chapter 14

_Aaaand we're back! Thanks for sticking through the posting break! If I ever do miss a week without a warning, just assume life got in the way, and I'll be back the following week. All of that said, let's get some resolution to that cliffhanger ;) Big thanks to Bjester74, DearHart, TXKimsonFan, Persephone Lupin, Celtic Knot, freetobescary, onanickle, and MaruHan for reviewing last chapter, and to everyone else for reading. Y'all make my writing world go round! Happy holidays everyone!_

 _Second quick thing, if the angst here gets too much, I recently started up a happy oneshot series for the boys called Life in Color. There's only happy stuff there, and if you have any requests, send 'em in!_

 _I still don't own Supernatural, that...hasn't changed to a degree that I'm aware of._

* * *

The only sound left in the room besides Dean's slight fiddling with the blanket and the beeping monitors was Sam's own breathing. Him, in hell? What was Dean talking about? That was years ago, they'd been over this…Sam looked up at him, forehead creased with confusion, and was met with a similar look from his brother.

They were both so terribly confused and lost, unable to convey what they needed to in order to make the other party simply understand. It was terrifying territory.

"Rock of Ages," Dean said quietly. It was so quiet Sam almost couldn't make it out, and whether that was from the memory of the pain of putting words together, he didn't know. Maybe it was both. "Lucifer. Lisa. Ben." They were all just disjointed words, but when Dean raised his eyes back to look at Sam, there was nothing but heartbreak in them. Heartbreak and loss and sadness and pain, so much so that he hadn't seen in his brother's gaze in so long.

He had never wanted to see hurt like that again in his brother's eyes. But he still wasn't quite grasping what Dean was getting at.

"You…" Dean trailed off again, a corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a pained smirk, his brother's go to facade for hiding whatever he was actually feeling, "either…not…you, or this…isn't real."

So either Sam wasn't Sam or the reality they were living wasn't real. So Dean was stuck in some sort of…Sam didn't even know.

He hadn't, however, brought up the fact that Sam was supposed to be possessed by Lucifer. So something in Sam's demeanor, or the fact that he had been by his brother's bedside for the past few weeks, or just the look on his face had assured Dean that he was talking to Sam and not an evil angel. But still, he wasn't quite sure how he could be talking to Sam, and Sam could read it all over his face.

"You're in a hole…in the ground…" the crappy attempt at a smirk faded from his face. His eyebrows pinched together ever so slightly and Sam saw it-the man who blamed himself, at least partially, for what had happened so many years ago.

Sam shook his head ever so slightly, wondering how he could even start to try and rectify this. "I'm here, Dean, promise you, all me," he tried, but he didn't exactly have a silver knife to prove his theory. Though, he did have a flask of holy water he kept in his jacket at all times, especially with all of them so open to attacks for the past few weeks.

He slowly moved his hand into his pocket, with Dean watching his every move, and pulled out the flash. "See?" he sprinkled a few drops onto his hand and raised it so that Dean could properly see. "Not a demon. No silver knife here though, it's a hospital, but I…I can get Cas to vouch, or…something," he tried and put the holy water away.

But it didn't seem to have helped. Dean was still eyeing him in the exact same way, and every glance Sam cast towards him hurt just a bit more. "There was a crash, Dean, do you remember that?"

He could see the gears turning in Dean's brain before he finally shook his head the little amount that he was able.

Sam pushed a hand through his hair, and when that didn't do enough, he pushed himself up from his chair, still shaking his head.

"So," he started as quietly as he could, "I'm supposed to be in hell, you were with Lisa and Ben, but something's totally off about this whole scenario?"

There was a single blink from Dean as he eyes Sam as cautiously as he had been before, but with more pain in his gaze.

"You don't remember anything else?"

And then there were the two blinks that followed that Sam had been absolutely dreading. He was sure his face must have fallen a great deal because Dean opened his mouth, either to explain or to say another word or to do something, but Sam was still shaking his head. Dean had forgotten the past what, seven years? No, no, no, that couldn't be possible, not by a long shot.

"Okay, I just, I need," he muttered quickly to himself, trying to figure out what in the hell he was supposed to do. Sam cast another look to Dean, and, pursing his lips, pulled the phone from his pocket and made his way out of the room.

The handle rattled slightly with his shaking hand as he opened it and stepped outside, nearly running into Marian on the way.

"Sam! Scared me there, sorry," she said and shook her head, but took one look at him and her slight smile faded away. "What's wrong? We didn't get a call at the station, everything alright?"

No, everything was not alright. Something was terribly wrong, and Sam couldn't (didn't want) to put it into words. "He, uh, he's awake," he said quietly, "he…he's remembering things that happened…seven years ago that we put behind us." Sam shifted the phone in his grasp and shook his head again, trying to get rid of the voices in his mind reminding him what the worst case scenario was.

Marian's soft touch on his shoulder brought him back down to earth and he looked at her through slightly wet eyes. "I'll ask him a few questions, we'll do a few tests, we'll get this sorted out, Sam, he'll be fine," she assured gently. Marian then looked over a few more things on her seemingly magic clipboard, and after a moment of waiting, she shook her head. "I'll see when we can get him in for things, but it may not be immediate."

"So you're saying…?" Sam trailed off, hoping that it meant no ill-effects for Dean.

"Just that it may be better if you went back to where you and your brother are staying for the rest of the day. Come in tomorrow, I'm sure we'll have something to update you on then. We also don't want to overwhelm him, especially if there is brain damage, which there may be with what you're describing." She said it very calmly, which helped, but only to a certain degree.

Sam would have brought himself to nod, but he wasn't sure about it anymore. Instead, he quirked a small half smile to show he appreciated it, and Marian took her clipboard into the room with her and half closed the door behind her. Sam leaned back against the wall for a moment before he took a breath and pulled the phone out of his shaking hands. He dialed Cas' number and went to find the quickest way outside.

Cas picked up on the third ring, and was obviously distressed by the call. "Sam? Is everything alright? Is Dean okay?" he asked in quick succession.

"Yeah, he's…awake, he's…I don't know, Cas," Sam said quietly, and leaned back again on the closest wall he found once he was outside. "He…he thinks I'm still in hell. He mentioned Lisa and Ben and Rock of Ages and…I don't know." He kept repeating those three little words until Cas spoke up again.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes, Sam, is a nurse in with him right now?" Sam could hear some slight rustling on the other end of the line.

"Marian, she's asking questions, running some tests, all of that."

"Good, that's…good. I'm sure it's just aftereffects of the crash and the drugs, he should be back to normal fairly soon I'd imagine." Cas was doing his best to be reassuring, Sam could tell, but the slight bit of doubt in the usually immovable angel's voice told him otherwise. Upon not hearing a confirmation on the other end of the line, he asked a quiet "Sam?"

"Yeah, back to normal," Sam repeated quietly. Around his secluded phone call, nurses rushed to and from various other locations. Soft beeps of other monitors echoed down the halls along with the footsteps on tiled floors. There were voices, all hushed and muffled in tone, but still there, still surrounding everything, and there were so many -"any chance you could just pull around and I could meet you? She said it may be better to come back tomorrow, they should have more information by then."

"Of course, Sam. I'll see you in a few minutes then."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam repeated, as he had done tens of times over the past span of days. He couldn't say thanks enough, not really. There was another beat of silence before the line disconnected and Sam was left in the bustling hallway clutching a quiet phone.

* * *

When Sam met Cas, he was in a parking spot, the Impala humming as it sat there. The legos that Dean had stuck in the vent so long ago still slightly rattled as the heat fought to keep the cold off the metal beast. Would Dean forget about that too?

"Sam? How is he?" Cas asked once the hunter was inside and the door had closed, as if they hadn't already established how Dean was.

Sam sighed and leaned a bit more back against the seats. The seats, which, under a month ago, had been coated with his blood. If Dean didn't remember the crash, then he wouldn't be remembering that either.

"Cas…what if he forgot everything that happened after I went into the pit?"

The question was posed as quietly as Sam could manage, and his eyes were affixed to a certain spot on the Impala's dashboard for no apparent reason.

"Me, being alive, first off. The soulless stuff, Purgatory, the Mark, the Darkness…" Sam trailed off and shook his head, those being only a few of the major events that had come down on the brothers since that infamous "last day" in Stull Cemetery. Not even to mention the people they had lost. Bobby, gosh, how would Dean take that? He had barely taken it the first time, when he knew the context in and around what happened. Sam couldn't just drop it on him that yeah, another person they knew and loved was dead, and he didn't remember. Kevin, Charlie, people he didn't even know _existed_ yet. Benny, Chuck, everything with Lucifer, the Trials, the angels falling…

Dean convincing him in an old church in the middle of the night to not take his own life to lock away the demons forever. His laughs echoing through the halls during a meeting with Charlie. Dean fixing up a gash on Sam's hand. Dean bringing him back down to earth time and time again with that very same injury. Him beating the Mark and being reminded that yes, Dean Winchester is a good person and a good brother. Hell, even Sully.

Would Dean lose all that? He couldn't lose all that. Dean was his stone number one, he had said so himself. And yeah, they wouldn't be starting over, but to build up from all of that…How would they-

"Sam, you need to calm down."

Cas' voice was soft, not alarming, but the look in his eyes when Sam finally raised his own betrayed that notion. The angel had placed a gentle hand on the younger brother's shoulder, trying to be comforting. In reality, he looked just as lost and confused as Sam probably did if he were to look in the mirror.

"How-" Sam started, unsure about how to even finish that question. "How are we gonna fix this, Cas? If it ends up being…amnesia," even the word hurt to say, "or something, it doesn't just get magically fixed. Sometimes the memories never come back, even with therapy and reminding and a whole slew of other things."

Cas eventually dropped his hand and shook his head in the slightest. "I'm not sure," he admitted in a voice that was only a bit louder than Sam's own. "But we will. Everything you two have faced, everything that we have faced, we have managed to make it right. I'm not sure where to begin, but we will begin, and we will end it, the same as always." Amid the look of confusion on Cas' face, there was a bit of determination that Sam was used to seeing. Even with him trying not to doubt and failing, Cas was trying for the both of them.

"What if it never gets better? How do we fill seven years of lost time?" Sam scrunched his eyebrows together.

"As Dean says," Cas began and threw the Impala into reverse before he carefully backed out and started maneuvering away from the hospital, "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We'll wait for tomorrow and go from there."

"And the day after that and so on," Sam nodded ever so slightly. In the back of his mind, he wondered exactly how long the 'so on' would end up being. He prayed to a God that wasn't listening that for all of their sakes, they could catch half a break this time around. Ghosts, demons, Cain, the Darkness, they could all be beaten one way or another.

How could Sam even begin to go about beating the invisible demon that may be lurking around in his brother's head?


	15. Chapter 15

_Celebrating chapter 15 with the longest chapter so far, hope you guys enjoy! I hope that everyone had a good holiday season and that your New Year's will be great as well. Thanks to freetobescary and Guest for reviewing the previous chapter! To the guest, I'm going to say no about Chuck's manuscripts. While that is a good idea, it would make things a bit too easy, and it's never been hinted at that they have the physical books with them in the bunker. With that, here's the new chapter!_

 _Still don't own Supernatural._

* * *

The drive back to the motel was spent in relative silence, save for the heaters and the rattling that came along with them. Sam and Cas spent the rest of the afternoon with laptops open, trying to find anything they could on amnesia, brain injures, and recovery (as if they hadn't already scoured every single website in their few weeks there). Eventually, Sam announced that he needed to get out of the motel room for a little while and was grabbing something to eat.

"Are you sure? Dean specifically said to be careful about you driving, that it shouldn't be happening in the first place," the angel argued from his spot by the table.

Sam just shook his head and motioned for the keys. "It's been almost a month, Cas, I'm good, promise. Just need to get out for a little while is all."

He could see the angel thinking it over in his head, as if weighing the pros and cons of the options set before him on the table. "You're sure?" he checked again, regarding the hunter with slightly squinted eyes.

"I'm sure," Sam repeated, "haven't been doing much anyways to hinder the healing process, and I've driven further with much worse." He'd driven half dead to the clinic with a bullet wound in his gut, but he wasn't exactly keen on recanting that story given their current situation.

Cas eventually sighed and passed over the keys. "Just…be careful, call if you need anything."

Sam nodded again, happy to have the familiar keys back in his hand, and pulled his jacket from the back of the chair, one hand also holding his laptop. "I'll be back in an hour or so," he added before he went out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Sam had been in the Impala numerous times since everything that had happened, but he still sat in the driver's seat, as if catching his breath for a moment. It was still odd to be driving the car, especially under the current circumstances. His chest still pulled a bit when he turned around to check for traffic before he backed out of the spot, but it was more just uncomfortable than painful. It was a reminder that he had almost been dead a month ago, and then Dean was in the exact same scenario.

It wasn't snowing, which was nice, and when it did snow it wasn't a lot. Depending on how long Dean's recovery took, they could get into some pretty heavy snow later in the month. So Sam was keeping his fingers crossed for multiple reasons that Dean would get better soon. Still, it was cold enough outside that Sam pulled his jacket around him a bit tighter as he made his way out of the now parked car, laptop in hand.

The warm cafe he stepped into was a nice change from the outside, and he smiled politely at the waitress before picking a seat that was out of the way as she grabbed a menu. It was during the off hours for people to be eating, so the place was relatively quiet. The waitress poured coffee with a smile before he could refuse, simply stating, "you look like you could need it," in the gentlest way she could.

Sam thanked her, ordered a sandwich, and opened up his laptop as soon as it had been placed. And then…he stared at the screen. He had lost count of how many tabs and windows he had open and how many bookmarks he still had to file into their correct folders. The words seemed to mock him in different sizes, shapes, and ways of saying 'you can't help your brother. You're helpless to help him.'

He cocked his head a bit, as if the words themselves could take it as a threat to shut up, and opened up a word document. The blank page, while daunting, was much better than a cluttered website filled with repetitive information from four other sources.

A word document, now that he could work with. He already had notes on pretty much everything saved in other various documents that resided on his desktop. No, notes he was tired of. He needed to do something else, he needed to find something to help Dean if what they were dealing with really turned out to be amnesia.

Sam wrote down three little words: _May 13, 2010._

Every anniversary of that day in the years since then, he and Dean had stepped lightly around each other. There was more bantering and less bickering, and if they weren't on a hunt (and sometimes even if they were), they didn't let each other out of their sights. Because Sam had gone to hell on that day, and Dean had thought he'd never see him again.

There wasn't an explanation needed for that day, Dean remembered it fine from what Sam could tell, and by the time he was done staring at the date, his sandwich had appeared next to him and his coffee had been refilled. He smiled a bit to himself, and took a break to eat before he went back to his list.

He added the date when he got his soul back, and filled in as many specifics as he could, though he glossed over some of what he had done while soulless. He remembered it perfectly, there was no reason why he had to remind Dean of it too when he could just remember it on his own someday.

The dates began to pile up, some much more specific than others, and after an hour passed, he texted Cas to let him know he'd be a bit later, that he was fine, and that he was just working. Every so often, he'd delete a date and shake his head, or spend too long staring at the words on the screen.

 _September 2011: I cut my hand and you turned it into a reminder that you're my stone number one that I can build on._

 _May 2013: You convinced me to not board up hell at the expense of my own life. You got me stuck with an angel without my permission, but you meant well._

 _December 2013: We lost Kevin._

 _January 2014: You got saddled with the Mark._

There was no further explanation for that needed. If Dean wanted it, he could ask Sam directly, but he didn't need to put it in writing…he couldn't put it in writing, not everything they'd both done over the course of that year. He'd never get the words on the page. That was, if Dean ever saw the page to begin with. Why exactly Sam was writing it, he wasn't quite sure, he just…needed to, to remind himself, and his brother if it came down to that.

 _May 2015: I spread some pictures on the floor, got punched, and eventually you killed Death. You made him Mexican food as a peace offering beforehand._

Sam smiled a bit as he wrote it, just a bit. Speaking of peace offerings with Death was much easier than saying Dean almost caused Sam's that very same day.

 _May 2016: You found the amulet I rescued from the trash years ago. We also found God, which turned out to be…surprising._

 _October 2017: You weren_ _'t dead, and you found me, like you always do._

The list went on and on like that, with dates peppered in-between other ones, and estimations in place when he didn't remember the exact date.

As the sun began to set, he thanked the kind waitress and left the cafe, closed laptop in hand. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with the list, not yet at least. But he had an outline of sorts of what had happened since Dean lost his memory, which should help with any questions Dean brought up. Lisa and Ben were of course on the list, and Sam knew more than anything else that the topic would be coming up sooner rather than later.

When he made it back to the motel room, Cas greeted him as usual and they went on pretending like everything was at least half normal and their worlds weren't crashing down around them. Sam went to bed earlier that night, knowing he was likely to not sleep much, given what the next day was likely to hold.

* * *

 _December 4, 11:37am_

"We went ahead with a few more scans and some verbalized testing for dates and information you provided us with, along with other well-known world events," Dr. Monroe continued.

Sam and Cas had sat down in his office about ten minutes ago and the door had closed behind them. Dr. Monroe was a well spoken man in his mid fifties that wore glasses, but only when reading, Sam had noted. They had been going over what sorts of tests Dean had been administered before they got to the results.

"From all of that, combined with the brain scans and the damage to the hippocampus, we can conclude that your brother is suffering from a form of retrograde amnesia," he didn't give it a moment to set in before he asked, "has he suffered many concussions in the past?"

Sam nodded numbly, his brain still trying to process his worst fear in the ordeal. "Yeah, we, uh, we work odd jobs all over the country, some of them aren't so safe," he said vaguely.

Dr. Monroe nodded, expecting as much. "That could have been a contributing factor, when coupled with the head trauma from the crash and the coma he was in. From what we can tell, he remembers nothing of the past seven or so years, including the crash that caused this injury."

The room following that statement was utterly silent.

"Is there any hope that he can eventually regain these memories?" Cas asked a moment later, breaking the silence. His gaze, however, was on Sam, who had taken an intense interest on the scar on his palm.

Dr. Monroe sighed and leaned forward against his desk, arms on top of it. "Some of them, maybe. As of right now, there are no proven methods to remember everything. Trigger words, repeating what happened, those are more effective in the movies," he shook his head. "Realistically, some may come back in bits and pieces. Something from three years ago could come back first, or something from two months ago. The brain…it is very unpredictable. But it is highly unlikely that he will remember everything in the detail that he was once able to, I am sorry."

Sam was hearing him, but he wasn't _hearing_ him. Dean was his memory keeper, as much as Sam was his. Everything they had been through…

"What can we do to possibly help?" he asked in a voice much too small for his stature, and raised his eyes to the doctor.

"Don't overwhelm him," Monroe put it simply. "He needs time to heal and accept what has happened most of all. Dumping everything on him and begging him to remember will not help the situation, though I understand that it can be hard to not do so. If you care about his wellbeing-"

"-which we do," Cas cut him off shortly.

"Let him take it at his own pace," he finished. "Some reminders never hurt every once and a while, to try and bring something up. Maybe he'll see something and an image will pop into his head that you can then describe. It's very different for every patient."

Sam nodded again. For all the research he had been doing on his own, and Cas too, it sounded like what they had been reading. No true cure all, just hopes that fragments would eventually come back. And in their lives, fragments without backstory could be hard to swallow.

"And…physically, how is he?" Sam asked eventually, to which Cas nodded, as he had too been thinking about the question.

"Physically, he is getting better," Dr. Monroe answered with a bit of a smile. "His physical therapy is progressing well, his muscle use is good. He's very stubborn to get back on his feet it seems."

"Yeah, he's as stubborn as they come," Sam let out a breathy laugh and shook his head.

"Stubbornness is good when healing, but in small doses. Not pushing too hard goes for himself as well," the doctor reminded. "But physically, he is almost back to normal. He is more tired than normal, and the head trauma, but that is normal for someone of his circumstance."

"Can we be expected to be able to take him home any time soon?" Cas asked, leaning forward a little in his own chair. It had been almost a month, and they were getting more eager to get back to the bunker, which Dean didn't even know existed, and sort this out in privacy where they could help in their own ways.

Sam watched as Monroe checked a few things in Dean's file and scrunched his eyes together. "Again, no rushing, but…we'll see how the next week progresses. If he continues to improve like this, we can have him transferred to a location closer to your home."

A week? They could be headed home in a week? That immediately brought a smile to Sam's face. "We can drive him back and get set up and everything, just let us know when," he nodded again.

"We will be sure to keep you in the loop. Until then," Monroe stood up and extended his hand to both men, and they exchanged handshakes, "don't be pushing yourselves too hard either."

"We won't," Sam assured.

"Thank you, Dr. Monroe," Cas added, a smile on his face as well. With that, the doctor nodded and sat back down, leaving Sam and Cas to head out of the room and back to Dean's.

* * *

Dean had been sitting in a chair looking out the window for…he wasn't sure how long, exactly. Time was hard with the clouds in the sky, his aching head, and the drugs still going through his system. But he had convinced the nurses to let him walk around his room in his off time from physical therapy sit in a real chair today, so that was his win. It was small, but it made him feel more normal and he could watch the snow flurry outside of his own accord.

New York…just like that. He had woken up in a hospital bed in New York with an old Sam and old Cas looking at him, who, after looking in a mirror, was obviously older too. He wasn't with Lisa and Ben, and they weren't here, and he hadn't gotten up the courage to ask why they weren't.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he was missing seven freaking years of his life. Seven. Years. In hunter years, that was like twenty. How many world saving events had he missed? He was guessing Lisa and Ben were part of it somehow, and he had just…lost it all.

Any time he tried to force his brain to go back to remember something new, he couldn't. It just hurt, like a hot spike. Or sometimes, there was just nothing, like someone had replaced the images in his head with a literal blank slate. Cas hadn't healed him yet either, which Dean didn't doubt he would do, so something bad had happened there…right? Probably. Maybe. Dean actually had no idea. It was like trying to piece together a puzzle where 98 out of the 100 pieces were invisible and the two he had didn't fit together.

He had more scars than before too, so that was…something. Not exactly unexpected, just…strange. Sure, he'd never be a clear skinned baby again, but waking up and getting undressed only to find even more scars on his body was definitely a wakeup call.

And then there was Sammy. Gosh, Sam, where did he even begin? The obvious scar on his hand that he had rubbed a few times with a faraway look in his eyes. His eyes, just, in general. They healed a heaviness that Dean hadn't even seen in the time he remembered with the apocalypse. Sam had seen some things, done some things, and Dean was left to wonder how many he caused, how many he was a part of, and how much he could have prevented.

His younger brother just looked older, all around, and not exactly in a bad way, it was just…strange. Sam was physically older than Dean felt, but Dean was still physically older than him. Dean was what, early thirties last he remembered, and suddenly he was approaching forty. What the hell?

He was sinking, and he couldn't find a life raft. Which was funny because apparently his plane had gone down, in the ocean. First off, his plane. Since when did he ride in planes? So again, something was off there.

There was just something off with literally everything, and he didn't know how to fix it. Some of it, he doubted even Sam knew how to.

The sound of the door opening caused Dean to break away from his thoughts and shift his body towards the door. He smiled a bit as Sam and Cas came in, and they too smiled back. Wherever they'd been for the morning, hopefully it would at least yield good news.

"Snowing outside," he commented, unsure of how else to break the ice that seemed to encase every one of their conversations. They were all walking on eggshells around each other, not wanting to break anything fragile should they say the wrong thing.

"Yeah, it gets pretty cold at night. And during the day too, sometimes, just depends," Sam replied easily enough. Dean knew just by looking at his brother's much older face that the light in his eyes was due to the happiness that Dean was awake, but the heaviness on his shoulders were the circumstances that meant Dean was awake.

Both he and Cas pulled up chairs around Dean, who shuffled his a bit so they could all sit comfortably and look at each other.

"How are you, Dean?" Cas asked, getting right down to what they all wanted to know. Hell, even Dean himself wanted to know.

He wanted to say that his head ached something awful even with the drugs, he couldn't figure anything out, he didn't remember anything, he was missing a huge part of their lives, and apparently it was now December and he was in New York after a plane crash. But…he didn't say any of that. Sam and Cas already had enough on their plates for him to be adding more to it, and stuff they couldn't do anything about.

Though he didn't doubt Sam's ability to see through the lie, Dean gave it a halfhearted attempt. "Aces," he said with a slight shrug, still sticking to slightly smaller phrases as he got used to everything again. "Bit of a headache, but to be expected, right?"

"Right," Sam nodded, with an obviously forced smile as he looked to Cas and then back to Dean. His hair fell in front of his face and he had to brush it back, which made Dean smirk. Seven freaking years and Sam still wasn't cutting his hair.

"So…about ready to bust out of here?" Sam's next question had Dean looking at him quizzically. "Dr. Monroe said you're doing well, and if you keep it up in about a week we should be able to take you back home."

Dean couldn't hide the smile on his face, but it slowly faded at the mention of a home. Like Sam had said before, a bunker. So…the motel hopping, was that still a thing? In the time he didn't remember, they had actually found a place to call home?

Sam must have immediately picked up on Dean's quizzical look, for he went right into an explanation. "It's in Lebanon, Kansas. It's this old…let's say supernatural war bunker. I can fill you in more later," he tried.

"You have a memory foam mattress that you're quite fond of," Cas also chimed in, a bit of a smirk tugging at his lips. Oh, so Dean must mention that a lot, that was noted.

"How long have we been there for?" Dean asked slowly, lips pursed after the fact.

Sam's answer came just as slowly. "About three, four years."

They had a home for three or four years, okay, that was going to take some processing…a lot of processing. "But it's great. As soon as you get out of here, we'll get you back in Baby and give you the grand tour, sound good?" Sam's attempt at levity almost fell flat, but there was a saving grace.

Dean immediately perked up at the mention of his Baby. Last he remembered, really, anything, she had been sitting in Lisa's garage. At least she hadn't been there all that time, that was a relief. "You better be taking care of her," Dean said, mildly threatening, knowing that Sam would get it.

Sam did get it, for he let out a low laugh and shook his head, obviously glad to hear his brother speak like that again.

"She is in good condition, Dean, you have nothing to worry about," Cas affirmed for Sam.

After a moment, it occurred to Dean that the Impala was maybe in the best condition out of the four of them, but he didn't voice that opinion.

* * *

 _December 10_

In the morning almost a week later, true to Monroe's hopes, Dean was able to sign himself out and be released from the hospital. They had, of course, sent him with some mandatory medications, pamphlets, and doctors to look at in the area around the bunker.

Dean was a bit slower than normal while walking out of the hospital, but he immediately sped up a bit when he saw the Impala sitting in the lot. Cas watched and Sam rolled his eyes as Dean got up to the car and greeted her. After seeing that she was indeed in good condition, Dean got into the passenger seat, Sam in the front, and Cas in the back.

With a final look back at the hospital and a slight weight lifted off their shoulders, Sam drove the Impala out of the lot and down the road, more than happy to finally have a permanent change of scenery.

* * *

 _Not going to lie, I've been looking forward to getting Dean out of the hospital so we can get the story moving! The scars will play a part in the next chapter, so stay tuned for some good brotherly angst ;) If you've got a moment, reviews are always a pleasure to read and reply to!_


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks to TXKimsonFan, Celtic Knot, DearHart, Persephone Lupin, and freetobescary for reviewing, and thanks to everyone for sticking with this story! :) Hope you enjoy the next installment!_

 _Still don't own Supernatural, but it's only a week and a half until episode 13x10!_

* * *

For the last five minutes of the drive, Sam could tell that Dean was itching to get out of the car. He kept looking out the window, a silent 'are we there yet' almost slipping past his lips too many times. Whether it was the motion of the car, the confines of the space, or everything else going on inside his head, Sam had no idea. He did, however, get an idea of how badly Dean needed air when the car stopped and he practically flung the door open and stood up. Dean did his best to not make a scene, and turned so that his forearms rested on the roof of the Impala, as if he hadn't just made a ditch out of the metal interior of the car.

"You good?" Sam asked carefully as he extracted himself from the other side of the vehicle, Cas doing the same in the back.

"Yeah, yeah, just motion and, you know, you got no better at driving her in the past-seven years." It was a decent attempt at a cover up, and it almost worked until Dean's breath hitched for a split second at the mention of the time that had passed.

The three men stood around the car for a moment before Cas spoke up. "I should probably run to the diner, get some food for later," he said, and gestured for the keys. Dean, of course, eyed the movement with a frown that even he couldn't hide. Right, he had no idea Cas had practically been the sole driver of the car for the past month. "I could walk too, it's only a mile. The…vessel could use some exercise," Cas corrected when he saw Dean's look, which afterwards resumed its state of general, overall spent-ness.

"Sounds good. You got a phone and cash?" Sam checked, just to be sure.

Cas nodded back, and Sam gave him a few things to order (Dean didn't even ask for a burger, which was seriously saying something), and Cas went on his way.

"Head inside?" Sam suggested next and jerked his head towards their motel room door before he got their bags out of the trunk.

Dean looked between the door and Sam for a moment before he shook his head ever so slightly. "Think I may take a walk around the motel, be back in ten," he said a bit slowly, as if he was still making up his mind.

"You're…sure about this?" Sam asked, eying his brother carefully. He wasn't exactly loving the idea of his recently more alive brother going on a walk by himself…but it had to happen sometime, right? Give Dean some space to think away from the hospital and both himself and Cas. Sam eventually found himself shaking his head and handing Dean his phone. "Ten minutes," he reminded.

Dean took the phone with a halfhearted smirk and nod, and then began walking down the rows of rooms towards the back of the motel. Sam watched him until he disappeared from view.

Physical therapy had obviously paid off, and they had some exercises to do while at the motel and on the road. Dean still moved just a bit slower, but that was only because Sam knew how he usually moved. There wasn't a…purpose behind his steps, a quick means to get from point A to point B, so they were slower, more unsure than Sam was used to. His speech was better, which Sam was immensely happy about, but they still had to keep an eye on, well, everything.

He shook his head again and went to unlock their room, placing the duffel bags down as he did so. The bed closest to the door had remained untouched for weeks, and it took Sam a moment to realize that the empty mattress would soon have an occupant. It was strange, but a good strange.

Sam carded a hand through his hair; he really needed a shower, but he didn't dare get in while Dean was off by himself and Cas was running an errand. It could wait until Dean was asleep or at least Cas was in the room. Dean would probably make fun of him for worrying, but Sam thought he had a reason to after all that time.

Instead, he got the bags set up and decided on swapping out his plaid shirt for a fresher one that didn't smell like a hospital, which would be a major improvement. He was in the middle of buttoning it up, facing the door, when he heard it open and Dean stepped inside. He went to smile at his brother, but was met with an expression that bordered on horror and confusion.

"Sam?" was all Dean could ask as he carefully closed the door behind him, his eyes not leaving Sam's barely exposed chest…and the barely healed bullet scars that lingered on it.

* * *

Halfway through his walk, Dean was pretty sure it had been a bad idea. It was good for clearing his head (as if it hadn't already been cleared of seven years of memories, thanks universe) to a degree, but not much else. He hadn't done a ton of walking for "long" distances recently, it was more strengthening and all that other helpful nonsense. He got around to the manager's area of the motel and could see their room up ahead when he let out a sigh and a small wince where nobody could see.

It wasn't even the walking and the hospital and all of that…his joints ached where they hadn't before. Not a lot, he wasn't an old man for cryin' out loud, just little ticks here or there. If he rotated a knee wrong, there was a pinprick of pain right below it where he didn't remember there being before. Little things like that, little injuries that had never quite correctly healed in their line of work.

Maybe that was a good way to start the conversation: "So, over the last seven years, how badly have I been beaten up so I know where to take it easy and where to not get hit as much?" Yeah, that'd go over well. Or "hey, was this scar from a bar fight or a werewolf?" Again, he was absolutely positive it would be an easy conversation. Not.

He sighed again when he saw he had finally reached their room at a bit under ten minutes. Dean paused for a moment before he opened the door, allowing himself to be under Sam's well meaning scrutiny once again. He opened his mouth to say something, but found Sam on the other side of the room, swapping shirts.

A well meaning joke about not changing in front of strangers was at the tip of his tongue, but it faded as soon as he saw the scars on his brother's chest. Two round, somewhat pink circles stood out amongst everything else. Dean knew they were remnants of bullet wounds, and they certainly hadn't been there before. Hell, they were still pink, they were relatively _new._

"Sam?" he asked, wracking his brain for anything about his little brother getting shot twice in the chest in recent memory, but just like everything else, there was nothing but a blank slate there. Could he have prevented it? Was he there? What the hell had happened? Sam was sitting in a hospital waiting for Dean to wake up after he had been shot?

"Those aren't…what I think they are, are they?" he asked ever so slowly, praying that maybe it was a trick of the light, or Sam had something removed or hell, burned himself making bacon…whatever. Anything but the fact that he had been shot. Twice. In the chest. Which couldn't have been easy to get through. Hell, by the placement, Sam was probably lucky he survived.

Sam looked down at his chest and sighed before he finished buttoning up his shirt. "I'm fine, Dean," he deflected easily. "They're healed, good as new, nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Dean asked, and took a few more steps into the room before he sat down on the corner of the unmade bed closer to the door. It was easier than standing, and Sam immediately followed, sitting down across from him so Dean wouldn't have to crane his neck to look up. "How long ago?"

"Dean-"

"How long?" he cut out again.

Sam looked to the floor for a moment before he raised his gaze back to Dean. "About a month."

"Jeez," Dean whispered before he closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "You got shot…twice…in the chest a month ago? The hell? I don't-I can't-" Dean cut himself off.

"Hey, I know. You don't remember, and it's fine, not exactly a great few days," Sam tried for a smirk, but it fell flat.

Dean was about to ask what happened, had his mouth open and everything, but the question wouldn't come. It would be like asking Sam to relive it all over again, and he couldn't do that to him. But Sam started talking before Dean could stop him.

"Werewolf case up in the woods. They had guns, I got shot, you got me out, I was fine, end of story," Sam said simply. Well, obviously, it was the very beginning of a very, very long, twisted story.

"That's it? Just…" Dean pursed his lips. In his incredibly screwed up timeline, Sam was just back from hell. He was still getting used to the fact that Sam had been by his side, watching him get better. And now he found out Sam had been shot and probably nearly died? Again?

"That's it," Sam shook his head back. "Dangers of the job, Dean. I'm fine, we need to focus on getting you fine."

Dean let out a low laugh at that and the motel room lapsed into silence. "What about the hand?" His question was quiet and unsure if it should even be uttered, but it was, and Sam looked to him in surprise. "You rubbed it a few times, unconsciously. Don't do that without a story."

A story that Dean should probably have, one that he _needed_ to have, but didn't. Sam looked down at his palm and thumbed over the scar that was barely even visible anymore, as if he had forgotten that it still existed at all. "Piece of glass five years ago." The explanation started off simple, but the specific time let Dean know that it was anything but simple. "It, uh…I don't know. Unconscious tick I didn't realize I still had, I guess. Just helped me remember a few things over the years."

Yeah, as if that helped Dean at all. "Look…I get the whole…dancing around painful stuff, I got the same doctor lecture you did, but Sammy, I need to know some of what happened. I got a giant blank, man, I can't fill it. It's certainly more than a-a gimp hand if you're doing that with it," he said. Dean didn't mean for it to come out so accusatory, but it did, it just slipped out. He didn't know what he was trying to fill in, and it was hard on them all, obviously, but he needed something to go off of.

Sam sighed again and shook his head, as if weighing his options. "I was in a bad place," he said eventually, "and you took this," he raised his hand a little, "and used it to anchor me. You're my stone number one to build on, Dean, and I guess now…I gotta be yours."

Dean hummed a bit and tried to quirk a smile. "Role reversal, huh?"

Sam looked at him, confusion written over his features. "What do you mean? It's always been like that, Dean, we've got each other's backs no matter what, we look out for each other, we're family."

"And family just lets their brothers get ridden into hell with the Devil?"

Dean looked back to his brother, who was older and had long hair and had new scars Dean didn't remember him getting and didn't have Lucifer riding shotgun and wasn't in the Cage with them. But underneath all that, Dean could still see his younger brother, who, only a few months ago (it seemed) had said that it was okay and maintained eye contact with right up until he got dragged into the pit. And Dean had just watched. Sam was gone, like that, and now he wasn't. Things had apparently been fine for a while, but Dean didn't remember them making it fine.

"Last I remember, Sam, you're in a pit with archangels and now you're here with still healing bullet wounds trying to take care of me," Dean shook his head again. "I can't…I don't know what to make of it, man, any of it," he admitted and looked back to Sam, who was nodding, although his mind was very obviously in a different place at the moment.

"You didn't let me get ridden into hell," Sam countered eventually, voice wavering as he did so. Had they had this conversation years ago when Sam finally made his return? "You fought tooth and nail, and at the end of the day, it was the only option, you know that. But now I'm here and I'm fine, but you're not, and you need to let me take care of you for a change. You just spent days by my hospital bed, Dean, and you don't remember it, and you've been taking care of me. All this…Lucifer stuff…it isn't your fault, it never was."

Dean let the words sit for a moment. He started all of it, it was his fault, and he was about to say so to Sam, but when he looked back up, all he saw was utter forgiveness and longing in Sam's eyes, as if he was begging his brother to understand. Sam needed Dean to understand that Lucifer, everything with that was fine now, and it had been for a little while. But Sam also understood that Dean didn't recall any of that, and he'd be with him any step of the way.

"Whatever…rebuttals you have for that fact, Dean, lay them down, I told you it wasn't your fault and defended it once before, and I'll do it again," Sam added onto his previous statement.

They sat in silence for a few moments, but the unspoken words on their lips and gears grinding in both their heads said enough for each of them. Eventually, Dean nodded ever so slightly. It didn't help the guilt he felt over everything, and he still needed to ask about Lisa and Ben and what had happened with Cas. "Must be some pretty bad deja vu, huh, Sammy?" Dean asked with a faint smirk, raising his eyes to his brother. He was more tired after their little conversation, probably because it wasn't quite so little and he'd done a lot in his day out of the hospital. A lot was, of course, relative, and he hated it.

"Oh yeah. But whatever you need, Dean, I'm here for you," Sam reminded sincerely. "Just maybe…memories in moderation."

Dean nodded again. "Don't want to fry what's already been scrambled," he commented and vaguely pointed at his head.

"Not funny," Sam quipped back with a bit of a 'really?' look on his face that made Dean smile. He simply shrugged a little and shifted his position on the bed, as their conversation was over…for now…and rested up against the pillows and the headboard. He reached for the remote and turned the volume down low. He stayed away from news stations for now until he could get caught up at his own pace, and the few shows he sometimes tuned into as a guilty pleasure were already seasons from where he last remembered.

He eventually settled on some random old western rerun, only to notice that Sam had disappeared from the room. He came back a moment later with a bottle of water and a few pills for Dean to take.

"Meds," he passed them off to his brother, who took the pills without question and set the water on the table in-between their beds. "Cas says he'll be back in like thirty," Sam reported and took up his spot on the other bed, though he was fairly close to the edge of the space that separated the two mattresses. "Western?" he asked, looking at the screen.

Dean 'mhm'd in affirmation and affixed his eyes to the screen. Ten minutes later, one of the gunfights was over and he decided to close his eyes until the talking was done.

Eventually, he vaguely heard voices around him and thought the room got darker, but he didn't care enough to open his eyes again. Sometime later a blanket was placed over him and even in his mostly asleep haze, he could feel both Sam and Cas' gaze on him from around the room, which he would have remarked on being borderline creepy…if his weariness didn't run so bone-deep and if the gazes weren't so comforting.

* * *

 _Told you the scars would be making a reappearance! Next chapter Dean 'rediscovers' the Bunker...and maybe a memory or two as well, we'll see! I'm trying to get an update on schedule, but I've got three major exams coming up this week that have to take precedence, so if I miss a week, I'll see you back here right after the new episode! Thanks to everyone for reading, I really do appreciate it!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Sorry about the week break! Things got crazy, but they've toned down a bit now, until finals next week, but I'm ahead a bit so there will be a chapter next week even with finals ;) As always, thanks for sticking with the story! Reviews are always loved and appreciated!_ _Thanks to Celtic Knot and TXKimsonFan for reviewing!_

 _As for Wayward Sisters, personally I love what they did with it and I hope it becomes a series. Could the episode have used more Winchesters? Yep. But with the time they were given to fit everything in, they did well, and the scenes we're missing from the Winchester camping trip in Purgatory 2.0 can always be filled in by fanfic authors. So there's my two cents, feel free to add yours!_

 _Nope, don't own SPN._

* * *

 _December 12_

"The hell?" Dean asked the second Sam started pulling around a dirt road to something that looked like an old power factory. They had left the motel early the morning before, with Sam and Cas taking turns driving as Dean mainly slept in the passenger's seat. They had stopped a bit later than they had initially intended to at a motel, but it was worth it because in the late afternoon the day after, they had made it to the bunker.

"Just give it a minute," Sam replied, trying to ease Dean's worry. Even in the fading light, Dean could see the small smirk on his brother's face, a gesture that he had missed seeing in their current situation. Dean did, in fact, give it a minute, and when they pulled into some hidden spy garage under the factory, he was impressed.

He was more impressed, however, with the multitude of fancy old cars and bikes that were also inside the garage.

"Woah," he whispered as Sam stopped the car and the three of them got out. "So…a bunch of librarians collected cool cars?"

"Apparently, though they do take offense to that term," Cas brought up, though the angel was smiling as well.

Dean took a look around. Beyond the cars and machines, the layout was definitely a bit older, but it was fancy nonetheless. "Okay," he clapped his hands together a bit, "grand tour time."

It was the only way he could think to bring levity to such a situation. After all, how could he not remember a place like this? Even after following Sam and Cas down a few hallways, he was practically begging for anything to come to the surface. Literally anything. But the cars and the old lights and the cold cement beneath his feet did nothing for the years lost inside his head.

He tried to not let his disappointment show, as Sam and Cas were apparently pretty good at doing.

The hallway eventually ended and Sam and Cas let Dean go a few steps ahead up into a giant room. A metal staircase snaked up one side with a bunch of old radio stuff on the walls. A lit up map table sat in the center of the room with a few chairs sat around it. Dean let out a low whistle as he surveyed the area.

"We live here?" he asked, just to be certain. The library up ahead was also crazy big, but they could get to that later.

"Yep," Sam nodded, half a smile on his face. It fell a bit as Dean kept looking around, as if all of them were holding their breath waiting for something to surface.

Dean went over to the map table and toyed with a few of the circular objects on top of it. Things felt…familiar in a strange sense. Like he was going through some deja vu without remembering what would have caused it in the first place. It was unsettling.

"There is a kitchen just down the hall," Cas pointed to the area on the other side of the map room. "Sam has mentioned that you can be fond of cooking sometimes."

"We have a real kitchen now?" Dean asked, already beginning to cross the room, but he stopped when he heard a bit of a laugh.

Behind him, Sam was smiling and shaking his head a little. When Dean looked at him quizzically, he simply held up a hand and waved it. "Just deja vu. You, uh, you said that before."

Right, so the deja vu was hitting them all pretty hard then, good to know. Dean nodded in response, not quite sure what words would make up for what his brain couldn't remember. He followed the snaking hallways until he reached the kitchen, which was in fact a real kitchen, much to his delight.

"Am I a decent cook?" he asked, turning towards Sam and Cas as they stood in the doorway. Of course, he knew how to handle a few things, namely burgers and anything that had to be put on a grill. He was in charge of the grill during the barbecues with Lisa and Ben and the rest of the neighborhood…

And there it was. He cut off that thought before it could get any further. Lisa and Ben weren't with him, and Sam and Cas hadn't mentioned them, which meant that something had happened that they'd rather keep under wraps until it was absolutely necessary.

Dean could only take so much loss at one time, and right now his memories were taking up about a hundred and twenty percent of his 'loss' capacity. He couldn't add Lisa and Ben to that percentage…not yet.

He must have been staring at the soup ladle in front of him a little too long, because Sam eventually cleared his throat to get Dean's attention before he replied. "Pretty decent," he tried to be nonchalant about it, "but you need to learn how to do laundry."

"Re-learn?" Dean asked, trying to correct his brother.

Sam shook his head and smirked again. "No, just learn. Dude, you iron shirts with beer, we can't have that anymore."

Dean made a bit of a face and shrugged his shoulders in indifference. Water, beer, same difference, right? They probably worked about the same.

"So, we've got kitchen, headquarters, library, what else?" he asked half hoping there was some area that would just scream out memories at him.

"There is a filing room," Cas brought up.

Dean rolled his eyes in response. "Seriously, Cas? Filing? Sorry, but we're talking cool stuff here."

Sam shook his head and stepped back out into the hallway before he motioned for Dean to follow. "No, no, this one's good."

Dean muttered a 'whatever' under his breath and followed Cas down another set of hallways. He would definitely need to explore more to get all the hallways and rooms down. Some were labelled with numbers, others with letters, there didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason behind that. Cas eventually stopped and opened the door to one, revealing…a filing room, just like he had said. Cas flicked on the lights and let Dean enter.

There were stacks of paper and boxes around, but there wasn't much else there…until Dean looked at the floor. He looked back to Sam and Cas, who motioned for him to go explore, and he went up to the end of the room where there were semi-circle scratches on the floor. A hidden secret room? That should bring back some stuff for sure. He pulled open the cabinet that would attach to the scratches and grinned as it came forward and folded out to reveal a giant devil's trap and chains on the walls.

"I believe it isn't quite so boring now?" Cas asked, and Dean could practically see the smile on his face.

"Oh, definitely not," Dean replied, and took a few steps in. But that was about as far as he got. Something twisted in his gut the further he got into the room. He couldn't explain it, and no pictures popped into his head when he did so. He just had a bad feeling, and he knew to trust it. "So, we got bedrooms?" he asked and turned around to close the dungeon off, hoping it wasn't too fast to draw unneeded attention to it. Apparently not, because Sam motioned him out of the room.

Down, you guessed it, another hallway, Sam pointed out his and Dean's rooms next to each other, which Dean peeked into, and then they continued to the library. Dean hadn't been interested in it before, but standing in the space with the big wooden tables, lamps, and books stacked up, he could only imagine how helpful it was to them.

"This is crazy," he muttered and ran his fingers along just a few of the book spines.

"Yeah. Turns out the librarians were good for something. There's other storerooms in the bunker, but we can get to those tomorrow or something," Sam mentioned. He pulled out a chair at the table, to which Cas did the same, and sat down. Dean kept standing, fingering through a few titles on various creatures and findings, some of which were new even to him.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and when Dean looked up from his book that he was turning pages in, he was struck by how much the even stacks of books looked like those in Bobby's house. Oh man, he must love this place. It was a little far from Sioux Falls, but still.

"Hey," he turned to the two men seated at the table, "Bobby ever drop by here? I mean, the distance is a little much, but he must love it." He turned back to the books with a fond smile on his face before the silence got to him.

They should have responded, right? Some sort of affirmation? He turned back to them a bit slower than he had the first time to see Sam suddenly very interested in the pencil on the table and Cas looking back at Dean with a sad expression on his face.

And that loss percentage that Dean had been so worried about? He should have known what was coming, but he had to ask anyways. "He's been here, right? Or you text him pictures of this stuff when he needs it or something? Skype over how to alphabetize werewolf nonsense?" Each question got more desperate as they were asked. And still, the silence fell back over them. "Sammy?"

His brother eventually raised his head, and Dean could tell that this was one of those topics that they had been trying to avoid until it was absolutely necessary. Because knowing…in Dean's already fragile state, could…he didn't know what.

"There was an…incident about five years ago," Cas started very quietly. "The leader of a group of monsters came after you and Sam and Bobby and-"

"Bobby didn't make it," Sam finished for Cas just as quietly. "We found the bunker about a year later."

So, no, Bobby had never been to the bunker. They had never skyped or called to share the vast tomes of knowledge. They had never done that because Bobby was dead, and had been for five years. And Dean didn't remember any of it. He very slowly closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I wasn't sure how to bring it up to you, the aftermath didn't go well last time, and with everything else happening, I wanted…I don't know, to see if you remembered something first that may make it easier."

Of course, nothing about the situation would make any of it easier, but Dean got why Sam hadn't told him. He got it because at that very moment, his chest was tight and his legs were about ready to run away from whatever sort of news flash this was.

"He…he get a hunter's funeral?" Dean was eventually able to ask in a voice that cracked enough to betray the emotion he was trying to hide. Because he should have remembered that answer for himself, and he couldn't bear asking about more of the details because he should have remembered those too.

Cas was about to answer, but Sam held up a hand and shook his head. So there was more to the story, but Dean couldn't bear to ask any more of it. "He's at peace, Dean, he's in heaven, we know that for a fact."

Again, something Dean couldn't bring himself to question Sam on for more details. He eventually nodded as slowly as he could and pursed his lips.

"Okay…" he trailed off quietly. "I'm gonna…I'm gonna take a shower, get this hospital and traveling stink off me."

It was a lame excuse, but nobody called him on it, and Dean doubted they would have. He left Sam and Cas sitting at the table in the library, but the tightness in his chest didn't dissipate. He followed the winding corridors down to where he remembered his room to be, the one with the guns on the walls and the nice mattress.

He made a beeline for the bathroom, where he got some cold water on his face and gripped the edge of the sink as if it could anchor him back down to reality. Bobby was gone, and had been gone for half a decade. How much more family did they have left?

So he had…two more years with him from what he remembered, hopefully. The last time he had seen him he had said goodbye and driven off in the Impala with the salvage yard in his rearview mirror.

That couldn't have been the last time they had seen each other, right? No, they had to have afterwards. They had to. It just went on as another tick on Dean's 'unanswered questions that may never be asked list.'

Dean wasn't sure how long he stood like that in front of the sink, but he did eventually make his way back into the rest of the room. Once there, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked towards the nightstand. Something in him pulled to open the top drawer, where he found a pistol and a small stack of photographs.

It took him a second to muster the courage to pick the stack up, but eventually he had the images lying in his lap. The first was of him and mom, which brought a sad smile to his face. He flipped through the one of their family in front of the tree in their yard and eventually to one of him and Sam. Sam was younger then, closer to what Dean remembered him as, but closer even to his Stanford days.

The next one he flipped to, however, was one Dean didn't recognize. He and Sam were seated at the kitchen table in Bobby's house with beers and sandwiches between them. They were both smiling, which was funny, because surely if that had happened and Bobby had taken a picture, Dean would have remembered it. Add that to the list of things he was missing, and for once it seemed to be a decent memory.

He flipped to the next photo and stopped, jaw set tight. It was another photo he didn't remember taking, and based on Sam's hair alone it seemed to be from about the same time as the other one. He and Sam were standing against the car with Bobby in the center, his arms folded.

It brought Dean the smallest amount of solace that he had at least seen Bobby again after his months with Lisa and Ben…and yet…This was probably the last picture they had of him, anywhere, and Dean didn't even remember taking it. He didn't know how long after he had left the life it was taken, or how far before Bobby would be removed from the picture entirely.

That thought had him putting the pictures back in his nightstand, slamming it closed probably a bit harsher than he should have. He went about grabbing a fresh pair of clothes to change into after his shower, trying to ignore how hot his face was. It was only there that he couldn't tell the difference between the water droplets and the few tears that would've stained his cheeks.

* * *

After he got out, Dean's head was no more clear, but he still wasn't ready to go back to the library or look for Sam and Cas. Instead, he started down one of the many hallways, looking for something to take his mind off what he had just learned. He passed by the kitchen and made a left down where Sam and Cas hadn't yet shown him. The walls in the hallways were mostly bare, save for a few lights that spotted them, and were free of marks.

Except for one portion. As Dean got closer, the same feeling he had in the dungeon came back. There was a large dent in one of the walls close to where it turned into a corner. Dean brushed his fingers over the dent. Something had obviously been hit rather hard into the wall and jerked back out again…

A hammer.

Just like that, a small flare of pain started in the back of his head and Dean reached up the massage it away. A hammer…he could practically feel it in his hands. He had hurled the hammer intending to hit something. Something on the wall? Had a monster gotten into the bunker?

But he should've listened to the feeling in his gut and not tried to remember anything else. A hammer was good enough, right? Wrong. If he couldn't remember Bobby, the least he could do was remember why the hell he was throwing around hammers in the bunker.

He shut his eyes, ignoring the steady warning of pain in his head until a feeling bubbled up in his gut. It was one of anger mainly, but also one that distinctly didn't belong. It didn't belong at the very core of Dean's being. The hammer…had been with the intention to kill someone…Sam.

It was a fleeting image, one that he tried to snatch onto but the second he did he wished he hadn't. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, and it was fuzzy and dark around the edges, like someone had failed at editing a photo properly.

But his hands were holding the hammer, and the hammer was aimed at Sam's head. His little brother had ducked just in time, leaving the hammer in the wall and Sam's hand up with a knife at Dean's throat.

* * *

 _Dun dun dun! This is actually what I've been excited to write about for pretty much the whole of the story. There's so much Dean doesn't remember, so going through a few moments will definitely be a ride! Tune in next week for some more brotherly angst, a few revelations, and some other fun stuff. I hope you guys enjoyed reading as much as I did writing!_

 _If anyone has a specific memory they'd like to see pop up, don't hesitate to suggest it and I'll see if I can work it in :)_


	18. Chapter 18

_Not going to lie, dealing with a bit of writer's block as of right now, but I've got a few things planned so it's just a matter of moving the story so that it happens. Thanks to DearHart, Celtic Knot, TXKimsonFan, and freetobescary for reviewing, you guys don't know how much it means to me :)_

 _Still don't own anything Supernatural related. Well, show/character wise. T-shirt wise, yes I do._

* * *

Sam and Cas heard the shower turn on from Dean's room and it was then that they both let out a breath.

"How are we gonna do this, Cas? It'll be like remembering all over again that everyone is gone. He didn't take it well last time, and now coupled with all of this," Sam leaned his elbows against the table and massaged his head. That could have gone better for sure, but the truth had to come out sooner or later.

The angel across the table from him let out a similar sigh. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But…Dean is strong. He survived all of this once before, it's just a matter of reminding him about it I suppose."

Sam didn't have it in him to nod at the statement. "But before, he didn't learn about all the deaths at one time. And I can tell, he needs to ask about Lisa and Ben, but he can't," he shifted his hand to wipe it down his face before he shook his head.

"Like the doctor said, we have to try to not overwhelm him. A few facts at a time, coupled with maybe a few things that he ends up recalling," Cas shook his head as well. "We will figure it out, we have to."

Sam eventually nodded, because the only thing they could do was find a way to figure it out. Eventually they heard the shower turn off, and Sam waited a few minutes before he got up from his seat. "I'll go see if he wants something to eat," he shrugged. Sure, that was one part of the plan, the other was to make sure his brother wasn't currently falling apart like he had last time. Sam made an immediate mental note to hide some of the alcohol just in case.

"Dean?" he asked quietly before he nudged Dean's open door open a bit further. Dean wasn't in his room, which definitely had Sam worried, and he started going down towards the kitchen. When Dean wasn't there either, he continued down the hallways until he found him.

He was down one of the halls that they seldom even used because it was mostly just extra bedrooms, but he was standing and staring at a specific part of the wall with one hand on it.

"Dean?" he asked again, trying not to spook Dean as he came up behind him. It was only when he got around his brother's side that he could see what Dean was touching.

Beneath his fingertips was the gash in the wall that they had never covered because the hallway was so seldom used. They actively avoided it when they had to use it, which didn't happen all that often. It was the gash that could very well have been covered in Sam's blood had he not ducked quick enough underneath his demon brother's hammer wielding hand. A ball of worry immediately formed in his chest because Dean shouldn't be this interested in a mark on the wall that he knew nothing about.

But Dean eventually turned and looked at Sam with absolute horror and confusion in his eyes, a signal that he did in fact know something about the gash. Somewhere, in his messed up skull, his brain had decided to supply him with that memory of trying to kill his brother, but probably not the context that came with it.

The almost inaudible "Sammy?" that followed was one more nail in the coffin that made Sam sure that 'not overwhelming Dean' would be a hard thing to avoid.

Deaths, Sam could explain. A demon brother trying to kill the only family he had left? Where could Sam even begin to start?

He followed Dean's gaze back to his eyes, his tired, tired eyes that didn't deserve news or memory fragments like this. "Dean?" he asked in a voice nearly as quiet, and took a step forward. He could see Dean prep to take a step back, but he didn't. He eventually dropped his hand from the wall, and with it, his eyes fell to a spot on the floor.

"What…what did I do?" Sam wan't quite sure how to answer what comes out of his brother's mouth next; he doesn't know what Dean remembered, and it must come across because Dean added to it. "There was this…rage and at the same time…enjoyment," he cut out. "I went after you with a hammer, Sammy. I almost-" Dean stopped himself at that and shook his head.

Sam finally closed the distance with a single step and a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "You didn't, Dean. We can't deal in almosts right now with what you remember and what you don't. It ended fine, I'm fine, we're fine," Sam tried to assure, but the truth would eventually have to come out.

"Why? A…a spell? What the hell happened?" _What could want to make me kill my own little brother and enjoy doing it?_ is the unspoken question that sits in both their minds even though it wasn't spoken aloud.

Sam eventually shook his head. "It, you, were a demon."

Dean started at the simple sentence, an added layer of horror crossing his face.

"You took on something called the Mark of Cain to help you kill a really, really bad demon. You eventually did…but you, uh, you died a little while afterwards. The Mark didn't like that, so your soul got twisted into a demon. But Cas and I, we cured you, and it was fine."

Sam could very quickly see that, no, it wasn't fine. Even for him, it wasn't fine, and it would never be fine. Getting Dean back to the bunker after what Metatron did was one of the worst drives of his life, and he nearly wished he could forget it.

But more than that, it was also physically not fine. The color began to drain from Dean's face, and it was all Sam could do to try and prop him up. Sam maneuvered them to his room, Dean complacent in his grasp, and sat them down on his bed.

When they sat down, Dean's gaze was staring absently at his right forearm where the mark had been for over a year. His fingers ghosted over the surface for a split second before his hands returned to his lap, clasped tighter than they needed to be. Sam wasn't sure if he remembered how the mark looked, or felt, or everything, or if maybe it was still a nervous tick that the red, angry mark still marred his skin in his mind.

"So, I got a pair of black peepers and tried to kill you and then I got cured," Dean eventually nodded slowly. "Should I be glad I got the spark notes version?"

"Dean, no, it's fine-"

"No, Sam, it's not fine! I tried to kill you!" His voice broke in the slightest as he uttered the last few words. His mission, his job, he had tried to end the only family he had left, and he didn't remember how or why, just that he had done the one thing he had sworn he'd never do, even under their dad's direct orders.

"And you've saved me probably a hundred other times after that, and a thousand before that. You weren't you, Dean, I knew that when and before it happened, I never blamed you, not ever."

But he could see in Dean's eyes that he didn't believe him.

"In the woods, I got shot last month," based on Dean's look, it's still a touchy subject, "and you got me out, Dean. You practically dragged me a mile through the forest, talking the whole time to keep me awake, and you kept my blood more or less where it belonged. You practically didn't leave the hospital at all until I got discharged. That's what you've done your whole life. What not-you did, wasn't you. You'd never hurt me like that, not ever," he annunciated the last few words more forcefully than the others, as if that could make them get into his brother's head more before he continued in a quieter tone. "I'm just sorry that you only remember that one event, no context, no nothing, and none of the somewhat decent events that followed."

Dean's head turned up at that.

"You saved the world, Dean. Sacrificed yourself again so people could live. And no, not another death to add to the list, but almost. It was…we'll get into it another time. That was you. That was Dean Winchester. The man that puts pretty much everything in front of himself. The thing that followed me through the bunker, that wasn't you."

And just like that, there was a small spark in Sam's mind, something that could maybe bring Dean around. Dean was still coming to terms with the fact that he had practically just let Sam jump into the pit, and now he had apparently tried to kill Sam. None of it was sitting well. But maybe…

Sam got down from the bed to grab the box from under it, to which Dean looked at curiously. He pulled it onto his lap as he sat back down on the bed. He opened it and moved a few papers around before he pulled it out.

It being the small golden amulet on the black string that Dean had thrown away all those years ago, probably just months ago for him. The amulet that just months ago for Sam, Dean had discovered he still had.

Dean's eyes immediately fell to the amulet in Sam's hands before he put the box on the other side of the bed. He reached out, as if to touch it, but drew his hand back.

"How did you…? You've had it all this time?" Time being months, years, whatever, it was still time.

"We weren't in a good place," Sam said slowly. "I pulled it out of the trash just in case, I don't know of what, but I couldn't bear the thought of it sitting in a junk heap somewhere. It means too much." Again, it meant a lot for various reasons that they could get into later.

After another few seconds of staring at it, Sam gestured towards Dean with it, and his older brother picked it up. He turned the small charm over in his hands, as if inspecting it to make sure that it was real.

"I shouldn't have thrown it away," he said it in a whisper and shook his head to go along with it.

Sam matched it with a shrug. "You were pissed. We weren't exactly in a good spot with the Apocalypse looming and everything. But honestly, it was just some angels probably messing with our heavens."

Dean looked up curiously at Sam, as if waiting for an explanation. "You really think none of my memories with you would be in heaven? Or that we wouldn't be stuck together for all eternity anyways?" It may have been years ago for Sam, but it had always sat uneasily with him, and he remembered it like it was yesterday. Going to heaven wasn't something one would forget, and the fallout afterwards from what they had experienced had cemented the event into Sam's head.

"I guess so," Dean replied, with an almost wistful look on his face, like he didn't quite believe Sam, not yet, but he desperately wanted to. "Doesn't erase the fact that I'm still sorry about it," he eventually admitted, his hand making a fist around the charm.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Dean," Sam said evenly. "Everyone does things they regret, now you don't have to anymore." He needed Dean to not regret something that was already years in the past, something that Dean himself couldn't comprehend yet. If Dean felt guilty for everything, which he had a tendency to do, he'd dig himself into a hole that Sam and Cas wouldn't be able to drag him out of.

Dean eventually nodded slowly, but he didn't go to put the charm over his head, not yet, he wasn't quite there. They sat in silence for a few moments before Dean stood up. "I'm…gonna grab some air. I'm assuming the staircase and door leads outside?"

Sam nodded back. Before he could open his mouth, Dean was already finishing getting rid of his worries. "I'm not going anywhere," he assured, "staying within shouting distance." With that, he grabbed a jacket from the chair in his room and shrugged it on, necklace still in his pocket, the familiar weight that felt almost alien at the same time.

He left Sam in the room and walked back towards the map room, casting Cas a smile as he passed. The stairs going up clanged of metal with his boots, and the door creaked when he opened it, but the slight tunnel did eventually lead to the outside. Dean tugged his jacket around him a bit tighter, as it was still cold outside, even in the setting sunlight. He climbed up the small set of stairs and then leaned against the railings in front of them, looking out at the sparse trees.

Dean let out a sigh, creating a white plume in front of his face as he did so. He pulled the necklace back out of his pocket, turning it over and over again in his hands. It took a few moments before he slipped it back over his head in the peace where Sam couldn't see just how much it still affected him.

It was, always had been, and always would be a sign of his relationship with his brother. He had gotten rid of the necklace once, and Sam had followed soon after. Those were two mistakes that he wouldn't be making again. The metal settled in the familiar spot on his chest and he nodded a bit to himself, as maybe things were a bit more right with their screwed up world now.

He just needed a few minutes to process, he told himself. He just needed to process.

The headache forming behind his eyes needed to fade so he could work through Bobby and apparently becoming a demon and everything else he should have remembered. Just processing, just processing, just going through the motions because once he figured it out things would be fine again. He'd get his memories back and they'd get back to hunting like normal. Things would be normal again…

Dean's chest rose and fell faster than he intended as his brain raced to catch up with everything that it couldn't. Seven years of everything that it couldn't. People and places and events-

And just like that, there was a hand on his shoulder. Dean turned, expecting to see Sam at his side, but he instead saw Cas, a look of worry on the angel's features.

"Hey, Cas," he greeted, voice cracking just a bit. As his brain calmed down, he realized how cold his hands were even in his pockets.

"I came to check, see how things are, it's been nearly twenty minutes," Cas supplied, which was definitely cause enough for worry when your brain damaged family member just wanders around. "So, how are things?" Cas took another step and leaned against the railing next to Dean, obviously doing his best to be supportive.

"How do ya think?" Dean asked with a bit of a forced laugh before he shook his head. "Apparently I was a demon, so…that's fantastic." He didn't have to turn to know that Cas' expression had hardened at that fact. He also didn't have to turn to know that the angel's eyes were on the amulet that had regained its position around his neck.

"It is a lot to deal with in a short span of time, Dean, no one would expect you to simply be alright with that fact," Cas brought up eventually. "It will take time to heal, but Dr. Monroe was confident that your memories would eventually come back."

"He say how long was eventually?" Dean was sure Monroe had mentioned it at one point, but it was easy for things to slip through the cracks in recent days.

"Anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, based on other cases, but each one is unique," Cas answered.

Dean nodded slowly at that. A few months, he could manage that long, right? They could go about building and fixing until he and his old body were back to normal. But at the same time…remembering flashes like attempting to kill Sam wouldn't be helpful. Maybe it was better if he knew the bad stuff going in? Or maybe not? He had no idea. But he turned to Cas, mouth open to ask a question, but closed it again.

"What is it, Dean?" Cas asked, looking a bit worried.

Dean looked at the ground for a few seconds before he brought his gaze back up. "Lisa…and Ben. They're okay, right? I don't want to be making breakfast one day and just get a flash of," he shook his head, not wanting to imagine it. "Just so I know what to expect if something does come on? So I'm not caught off guard." He needed to know what had happened to them, and he would, sooner or later, he just wasn't sure which was better.

Cas took his time in replying, obviously weighing a few options in his head. So the answer wasn't easy, which was great. "Generally speaking, I believe them to be okay," he assured. Dean went to let out a sigh of relief, but the angel's look had him holding it in.

"But what?" he asked slowly, because Cas was obviously holding something back.

"There was an…altercation. They got exposed to this life in a bad way, and you thought it would be best if I had them forget the scenario…" Cas paused for a moment, "as well as you, in order to keep them safe."

So…maybe it was better to know? Or not?

Dean blinked a few times and moved his hands to grab onto the railing at his sides as if it could anchor him down to reality. They didn't remember him, just like he didn't remember everything else. It was ironic, in a sense. "But they're okay?" he checked, just one more time, because in the end that was what mattered. If they didn't remember him and the dark universe he came from and they lived because of it, then it was worth it.

Cas nodded in affirmation, his expression a bit softer but no less worried. "They are, as far as I know."

"Okay," Dean replied as simply as he could. "All that matters."

A lot more mattered, but their safety came first. He hadn't wanted them to be dragged into the life, so he could make peace with the decision he had made years ago but only just learned about.

He wasn't sure how much longer they sat outside in silence, but eventually the sun set and the temperatures began to plummet. Cas suggested they go back inside, to which Dean agreed with a nod, and followed the angel back into the bunker.

Dean liked to pretend that he had left his problems and worried outside in the cold, but as he descended the metal staircase, he realized they were following him, like ghosts. Only they were ghosts he couldn't get to leave his mind with a torch or some salt. And yet, they were haunting him all the same.

* * *

 _I went back and forth on Dean finding out about Lisa and Ben for the longest time, so hopefully the thought process behind it seems alright. But let me know! Did it work out, not work out? And how does everyone feel about the return of the great Samulet? *because I want to know where it is again ahem writers you can't drop a bombshell like that on us and then forget about it*._


	19. Chapter 19

_First off, a bit of an apology. This chapter's a bit shorter than normal, but it gets the ball rolling on a few things. This is me trying to chip away at writer's block while hopefully not failing too spectacularly. Next chapter should have a good amount of angst and I've got some stuff planned for the next few, so stick around ;) Giant, giant thank yous to Celtic Knot and freetobescary for reviewing! Rest assured, the story will circle back to Lisa and Ben, they're not getting a few sentences of thought and then dropped, they're too important._

 _I own nothing officially Supernatural related. I just dabble with the characters._

* * *

 _December 14_

The next day passed slowly, quietly, and a bit awkwardly. Dean walked around with a headache for most of the day, but the second he saw Sam, his younger brother looked at him for one second before he turned, grabbed a bottle, and placed a few pills in Dean's hand. Dean tried to say no, because the medicine he was taking made his head fuzzy enough as is, but Sam refused. Dean was hurting, and he would take medicine to help, end of story.

They ended up in Sam's room, catching up on some _Game of Thrones,_ which Dean was thrilled to find was still on. They even got Cas in the room for an episode or so. The rest of the day passed by, all three of them trying to ignore the eggshells that they were walking on.

The day afterwards, Dean wandered into the kitchen to see Sam already up with his phone out. Sam always had been the earlier riser, and it looked like that hadn't changed.

Sam looked up as Dean entered to grab himself a cup of coffee and smiled at his older brother. "Morning. How'd you sleep?" he asked and moved aside the newspaper and the cereal box so Dean could sit at the table.

Dean shrugged, only about half awake and not ready for the questions. It wasn't early, but he hadn't in fact been sleeping that well. Not at all, but he didn't exactly want to come right out and say it only to make Sam worry more. "Fine," he said passively.

Sam could obviously tell something was up just by the look on his face but he elected to say nothing. He simply nodded and put his phone down. "Good, yeah, good," he paused for a moment. "You've got a check up at twelve also, down at the hospital, Monroe set one up before we left."

Dean looked over his cup of coffee at Sam, his eyes narrowing a bit. He probably knew about the appointment and had forgotten. "A check up? Really? Sam, I'm-"

Sam cut him off by holding up a hand. "If you swear you're fine, Dean…" he trailed off before he shook his head.

Dean shrugged back. "I feel good, up and around, can put on my socks and the whole nine." When he looked back to Sam, his younger brother didn't seem to be amused.

"This is non-negotiable, Dean. They need to check medication, probably take another scan, make sure everything's alright." Dean opened his mouth to refute, but Sam kept talking. "You were in a plane crash, Dean. You were in a _coma_ and you had a traumatic brain injury that led to amnesia. You're going."

There was not a single ounce of wavering in his brother's gaze, and by the way he put the emphasis on coma, Dean knew to drop his argument, no matter how much he hated hospitals and doctors and everything about this whole situation. It probably was important that he went…

"Hey," Sam tried. It was soft enough to break Dean out of his own head while at the same time assuring him that Sam did indeed understand his brother's hatred of hospitals. "If they clear you and your meds and everything, maybe you can take the Impala out for a small spin."

Dean perked up as much as he could at the thought. He hadn't driven Baby in, well, months it felt like for him, but it was probably in reality only a few weeks. Either way, it was still too damn long.

"Deal," Dean eventually nodded and took another swig of his coffee before he checked his watch. They still had probably an hour before they had to leave so that they'd have plenty of time to get there, given Sam rode the breaks like a freaking grandma sometimes.

"Sounds good," Sam smiled a bit back, obviously happy that Dean had some reason to not totally hate their most recent excursion. Sam read off some of the sports stories and filled Dean in on a few Superbowl winners, and before they knew it, it was time to head out.

* * *

Once at the hospital, Dean was even less pleased to find that Sam would probably be in the waiting room for the majority of the time. He left Sam sitting in a plastic chair with the promise that everything would be fine and followed a brown haired nurse down the hall towards one of the smaller rooms. She left him with a gown and said that someone would be in to see him in a few minutes.

"Stupid piece of fabric," Dean muttered under his breath as he changed into the gown and did up the ties. He fished the amulet out from beneath the gown, grateful to have its familiar weight back on his chest. But he figured that it would be best if he took it off, so he reluctantly placed it on top of his pile of clothes. It had only been a few days that he had it back, and suddenly having it off once again reminded him how naked he felt without it.

He then sat down on the table and stared at the ceiling. The white tiles were speckled slightly with different colors, and Dean tried to pick out patterns on them. It was a normal way of passing the time that he and Sam had done for forever in motel rooms when they were bored.

But after a few minutes, the noises from across the hall and the stillness of his own room made counting colored dots on the ceiling not quite good enough. Then again, he needed to be there, he had to be there, no matter how much he hated it.

Eventually there was a tap on the door, which Dean looked to as it opened and one of the doctors walked in. She was probably mid fifties with blondish hair that was up in a bun and a name tag that read 'Rogers'

"Dean Winchester?" she asked, looking between him and the clipboard in her hand for a split second before she smiled at him.

"You got me, doc," Dean replied with a bit of a smirk back.

She then nodded and placed the clipboard on the edge of the table. "I'm Dr. Monica Rogers, Dr. Monroe set this meeting up a few days ago, I got a call from his office, said you and your brother were headed back from New York, that right?" she asked, looking up from the clipboard.

"Mhm," Dean hummed in affirmation.

"And you were in New York for…"

"Business. Flew out, the plane didn't exactly fly, and yeah," Dean shrugged, figuring all of it should have been on the chart, which it probably was and she was just testing him.

Rogers looked and flipped to the next page, nodding a bit as she did so. "So…got a nasty bump on the head, TBI, coma, and resulting retrograde amnesia," she said, almost to herself, before she turned her attention fully to her patient and smiled again. "Alright. What we'll do here today is a check up, see how you're progressing, if any medications need changing, and take a quick scan to make sure that everything's healing properly."

Dean shrugged, not really in a position to say no. "Good by me."

"Great. So tell me, Dean," she started, grabbing a few things out of one of the drawers before she came over. "How are things in fact progressing? Headaches, dizziness, nausea, anything like that?" she asked as she waved one of the stick lights across his eyes. Dean followed it when told and when she was done, shook his head.

"Nope, all good," he added a smile for good measure. He, of course, had headaches, but they weren't migraine level, they just sucked, and nothing else. The medicine helped, but some of it made his head feel like it was stuffed with cotton balls. When he wasn't alert, then he was anxious because anything could be slipping past him at any time.

"Really? No symptoms whatsoever?"

"All aces," Dean affirmed.

Rogers turned around from where she had been writing on the papers, with a bit of a frown on her face. "And you're sure about that?" Before Dean could open his mouth to reply, she held up a finger. "Because, just to be sure, someone with your level of injury should have some lingering side effects, it's completely normal. With a head injury of this size, downplaying how bad it is will get you nowhere but a hospital bed because of something we could have detected but you refused to mention." She looked crossly at him, but not angrily. Dean guessed it was because she had seen his act all too many times with different patients on a multitude of different injuries.

"Headaches," he eventually muttered. "Not awful, but they're there."

Rogers smiled a bit at that and nodded, as if expecting as much. "Not so bad, was it?"

Dean shrugged. It was just one more reason why he hated hospitals: he was completely, totally, and utterly exposed and it sucked.

She then had him do a few exercises to demonstrate his motor skills, which had returned to where they were before, which she was very pleased about. His speech was also fine. The only lingering things were of course the headaches and the-

"Amnesia," she said slowly once Dean had sat back down on the table. "Sometimes memories can start surfacing, sometimes not. Have you had any?"

Dean took a moment to respond before he nodded slowly.

Rogers scribbled something else down in her notes. "Are they chronological? Did they start from what you last remember or are they random bits of time without context?"

"Second one," Dean said in a voice that was smaller than what he had intended. For a split second the hammer came back into his mind.

Rogers nodded again. "And your brothers, Sam and Cas," she flipped another page to get the names, "have they filled in any of the blanks?"

"Some of them. There's a lot of blanks to fill in," he replied, trying for a breathy laugh and a smile but they both fell flat.

She jotted down a few more things before she turned back to Dean, concern written on her face. "With how you're healing, your memories should return. Maybe not all of them, but the majority. It's just a matter of time and healing."

"How long?" Dean asked quickly.

Rogers took a few moments to think before she answered. "It honestly just depends on the patient. Normally it it within a year, sometimes months, depending on the length of memories missing."

Dean's chest fell a bit at that, the gown crinkling as it did so. "There's no way to…I don't know, speed it up?"

She shook her head. "The brain is a fickle thing. It does things at its own speed in ways that we can't completely comprehend yet." Silence filled the room, as it was obvious that had not been the answer Dean had wanted or been expecting. "But, your medication is helping, your motor and speech skills are good, those are all things to be thankful for."

Dean tried to nod slowly at that. Hell, he was probably lucky he woke up at all, but it seemed to pale in comparison to what he was dealing with on the flip side.

"Alright, do you have any questions?" Rogers asked after giving Dean a moment to think, to which he nodded.

"Yeah, any way to tell if I'm good to drive?" he questioned, the smallest spark of hope flaring up in his otherwise deflated chest.

"So long as you're not having a headache or taking medication specifically for a headache in the few hours around it, you should be fine," she answered, to which Dean responded with an actual smile. So the day wasn't completely awful then, there was one small win. Rogers asked if he had any other questions and when he shook his head, she continued. "Then I'd say we're done here. Someone will come to collect you for a scan in ten minutes or so. What's your schedule like the next few days?"

Dean quirked his head a bit at that. Was something else wrong? "Open, for the most part," he said, a bit confused.

Rogers nodded and made one final note before she picked up her clipboard again. "I'd like to get you in to see our resident psychologist. She's dealt with patients with amnesia before, and sometimes it can be helpful to talk to someone outside of family about what you're missing. It's helped numerous people in the past."

Dean could tell she was trying to help, he honestly could, but the only thing he could think about was that he did not want to and could not talk about this stuff with a shrink. Hell, he could barely talk about it with Sam and Cas, he couldn't with a stranger.

"I'll give you some time to think about it, we'll be in touch," she said with a small smile and began making her way to the door.

"Thanks, doc," Dean managed with a smile of his own. But as soon as she was out of the door, the smile dropped and his eyes fell to the floor.

* * *

The scan itself was nothing important. Lie down here, don't move, the whole nine yards. If something was up, they'd call. Dean heard most of the details, he was pretty sure, and eventually he was allowed to get changed and head back out to the waiting room. Sam put down his phone when he saw Dean approaching and greeted him with a bit of a worried smile.

"How's it going? Everything alright?" he asked, following his older brother as they began to walk towards the front of the complex.

"Yeah, all good," Dean said, trying to not make it sound as flat as it felt. "Motor skills are good, they took a scan, doc said the memories should start coming back in a few months or so. I'm good to drive," he listed off, mentioning the last thing as they neared the Impala, but Sam already had the keys out, and he was looking at Dean worriedly.

"All good? I know you hate hospitals, man, but what else?"

Dean shook his head and propped his elbows up on the roof of the car. "She wants me to see a psychologist. A damn shrink, Sam," he muttered. When he raised his head, he was surprised to see Sam look like he was thinking it over.

"Maybe it would help?" he tried eventually.

"Help? Talking about my problems with how I can't remember anything to a stranger? How is that gonna help, Sam?"

His brother shrugged his shoulders, obviously trying to get Dean to see that maybe it wasn't all bad. "I don't know, Dean. Maybe just…getting it out in the open so it's not sitting in your head locked up all day."

Dean just shook his head at that. There was no way it was going to end well.

"Just…give it a chance? If it sucks, don't go back, but it may help, Dean, and we could use all the help we can get."

Dean looked across the car to his brother, who looked back with a pleading gaze. They were all trying to learn on the job, Sam and Cas included, and Dean wasn't exactly the most open guy in the universe. Maybe it was a bit of a guilt trip, yeah, but it was born out of actual worry and the need to find something that worked, at least a little bit.

"Fine," Dean ended up muttering. He didn't see Sam's slight smile at the admission because he had already opened the passenger door and was on his way into the Impala, ready to head back to the bunker that had apparently been a home for the past few years. If only he could remember it that way.


	20. Chapter 20

_December 16_

When the appointment with the psychologist came around two days later, Dean was notably not very excited about the experience. By some miracle, he had been able to convince Sam to drop him off at the hospital instead of waiting around for an hour. Okay, maybe it wasn't a total miracle; Sam had been trying his best to help out Dean in any way he could, and if that meant not waiting in the waiting room, he could do that. Of course, there was the initial look of disappointment and confusion, but it was quickly replaced with one of understanding before he drove Dean over. He had still insisted on driving, despite the medical all clear Dean had gotten a few days back.

And…now here he was, signing himself in a full five minutes early and taking a seat in the waiting room of the small office on the lower level. Dean sat down in one of the chairs, not bothering to pick up a magazine. His phone was in his pocket so he could text Sam when he got done, but he didn't feel like using that either. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do.

He didn't want to talk to some stranger about his mess of a head, that was for sure. At least he and Sam had gotten their 'stories' straight beforehand, so there wouldn't be any glaring differences in histories or events that they had to fabricate in order to hide their particular lifestyle in case it should come up.

Dean just didn't want the doc poking around where she shouldn't. And yeah, he knew how it sounded, but if he didn't want to talk it through with Sam or Cas, he didn't want to talk period.

He was midway through again convincing himself how stupid it all was when a kind looking woman walked out of one of the doors and scanned the few other patients in the room before her eyes settled on Dean. She smiled kindly and made her way over. Her brown hair was up in a bun, heels clacking on the tile floor as she walked.

"Mr. Winchester, I presume?" she asked as Dean stood up.

He managed a small smile. "Just Dean is fine," he replied. Mr. Winchester? No thanks, on so many levels.

"Luna Hall," she introduced back and stuck out a hand, which Dean shook. "Or Dr. Hall, or Luna, whichever makes you most comfortable. If you would, follow me, and we'll get started," she cast him another smile before she led him through the door, down a hallway, and into an office. There was a window looking out to the courtyard of the hospital, a sofa against one wall, cabinets, pictures, and file boxes against another, and a desk with a computer and a chair to top it all off. A table with various books and small pottery figures and a few more chairs sat in the center of the room.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Luna offered, gesturing to the room with her hand.

Dean had half expected some sort of therapy bed thing, and was happy to not find one. He took one of the chairs next to the table and sat down, not entirely uncomfortable. Luna grabbed a pen and sat down, making a few notes on a pad of paper in a folder she had picked up from her desk before she sat down in a chair facing Dean.

"So, Dean," Luna started, eventually finishing her notes and flipping through a few pages before she brought her eyes back up. "This is more of an…icebreaker meeting, let's call it. See how things work, maybe give you a few tips to help with things, get a bit of background, and we'll go from there. Sound alright?"

It didn't sound amazing, but it didn't sound awful either, so Dean nodded in reply.

"Care to tell me a bit about yourself?" she asked next.

Dean took a moment before he shrugged. "Grew up in Lawrence. After my mom died, my younger brother, Sam, and I ping-ponged over the states for my dad's work. Got through school, didn't go to college, and picked up some off jobs here and there, usually with my brother," he said, giving her the spark notes version.

She nodded slightly as she listened. "You and Sam, I'm guessing you two are close then?"

Dean smiled a bit at that. It wasn't exactly a hard thing to determine. "You could say that, yeah. We were stuck together a lot while dad was working, so we couldn't hate each other all the time," he said, lightly joking.

"That would make things harder, wouldn't it?" Another smile, another nod on Dean's part. "And your dad, is he still…"

Dean shook his head. "He passed a while back," he said simply.

"I see. Sorry to hear that," Luna replied, seemingly honestly sorry to hear the news.

"It's been a while, it's alright," Dean brushed off with practiced ease. It had been over a decade…but only a few years for him, so it was probably less alright than it should have been.

But the way she looked at him, almost like she could see through him, made him uneasy. It would have been worse had it not been for the look of understanding that went with it. Probably because she had dealt with a lot of people like him in the past, but Dean had no real idea.

"What do you like to do in your free time?" Luna asked, apparently going for the whole question out of left field thing.

"Movies, exercise…I worked as a mechanic for a little while, so cars are a decent way to spend a few hours."

"What sorts of cars?" she continued, an eyebrow peaked in interest.

Dean shrugged. "Whatever I can get my hands on."

"The black beast I've seen in the lot a few times…she yours?" Luna asked with a smirk, as if she already knew the answer.

"How did you…" Dean trailed off.

"I saw your brother drop you off, I'm no psychic," she explained with a laugh. "But it is a good looking car, must take a lot of maintenance to keep looking that good."

Dean nodded again. "She's been built up and repaired so many times we lost count, so, yeah, lots of maintenance," he answered. Talking about cars and his somewhat fake family history…this wasn't quite so bad.

"When was the last time you worked as a mechanic?"

"Officially, not for a while, but I helped out neighbors a few months back and all that…" Dean trailed off, mentally cursing at himself. A few months, more like half a friggin' decade ago.

"You're the guy around town to ask about what's the funny hood noise?" Luna asked, not missing a beat at Dean's apparent misstep, but she did mark down a few things before she returned her gaze to him.

Dean 'mhm'd in affirmation, though it was more subdued.

Luna let the conversation drop for a few moments before she continued. "A few months may be a bit of an understatement?"

"Maybe," Dean replied quietly with a slight shrug.

Luna nodded in response. "It can take patients with amnesia months to get their timelines right, there's no rush to magically fix everything. Dates slip up here and there, it's nothing to worry about." Her tone was definitely reassuring, but it didn't physically fix anything, nothing did. "Do you mind me asking? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, it's just so I have a bit of an idea of what to work with," she started, and continued when Dean raised his head and gave her motion to do so. "What's the last thing you remember? In a linear standpoint, from years ago."

She watched him carefully, in no obvious rush. Dean debated saying anything at all. He knew exactly what his last memory was. It was seared into his muddled brain and probably would be forever…and he didn't exactly want it to leave.

He and Ben had spent all afternoon working on the truck. Dean had shown him a few things, how to change the oil, how to tighten loose things, the basics. Lisa had dinner waiting when they got in…it was a perfect, normal evening. Sam was still missing, as was a piece of Dean's soul, but playing cards after dinner with Lisa and Ben helped in the slightest.

Eventually Ben went up to bed and that left Dean with Lisa, who was leaning against his shoulder as they finished up a movie downstairs. It had become almost routine for them, an entirely new routine for Dean. Instead of research, running, hunting, killing, stitching, repeating, he was spending time cooking and driving and working and fixing. But not relaxing. He never totally relaxed, not ever. He was always on alert just in case something in the middle of nowhere decided to pop up.

But those quiet nights with Lisa by his side were the closest he ever got to relaxed.

She went up to bed, he checked the protections on the house, and then followed her up. After that, everything was fuzzy and the next thing he knew, he was coming to in the even more fuzzy world of the hospital with an old Sam and an old Cas looking down on him.

He didn't wake up next to Lisa, like he had expected, and he didn't take Ben to school on his way to work like normal. The routine he had carefully begun to build up over the weeks had suddenly come crashing down, leaving him trapped in the rubble without a shovel to dig himself out and no Lisa or Ben to lend a helping hand. Because much like him, they didn't remember.

That last memory he had from back when things made sense was probably the last image of them he'd ever see until he got the rest of his memories back. Dean stopped his brain right before he could go into the 'what if you never remember everything?' scenarios.

Dean eventually came back to himself, unsure of how long he had been thinking, but Luna still seemed to be in no hurry to get him to talk.

"I…stayed with an old friend, Lisa, and her son, Ben, while Sam was away for a while. I went to bed one night, woke up the next in a hospital. Or so it seemed," he let out a breathy attempt at a laugh and shook his head.

Luna only nodded slowly. "That must have been quite jarring. To have something one moment and not the next."

Dean found himself nodding along to that also, because she was right. He was still getting over the whiplash in a way.

She shifted a bit in the chair, pen still in her hands. "I don't suppose there's a way you could contact them? We have a few technicians who are very good with these situations…" she trailed off she she noticed Dean shaking his head.

"Apparently we had a falling out and didn't talk after," he said eventually, wanting to talk about anything except this topic in particular.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said again, and again sounding like she honestly meant it.

"I am too," Dean added quietly, still shaking his head ever so slightly. "But I mean, hey, what's the point on dwelling on it? It happened years ago, I'm probably over it by now, no point on bringing it up," he deflected eventually. It was a poor attempt at a cover up, but everything about this was making his chest tight. Because it was still jarring and it was still fresh and he should be over it…but he knew it wasn't fair to anyone to think like that, but it didn't help.

"Nobody expects you to be alright with every single thing the moment you start getting things together," Lena replied in a soft tone. "You're missing a lot of time, Dean, it's a lot to get used to and it's a lot to rediscover and relearn and get familiar with."

Dean would have scoffed at that, but he knew she was only doing her best. She probably saw it in his face because she continued.

"And you can't expect yourself to be okay with all of this either."

"You think I'm okay with all this?"

Luna shook her head. "I think you're trying to convince yourself that you should be, but you can't. It's a common enough sentiment, people want things to go back to the way they were immediately, but it simply can't happen. You need-"

"Time and space and a clear head and stuff like that, right?"

"Someone to go through things with," Luna amended, since Dean had taken her other options. "And since Lisa isn't here, I'm guessing Sam can help out with that, yes?"

Dean was about to nod, but he stopped himself. Sam could help to a degree, and Dean knew that he wanted to help in any way he could. His little brother was trying to fix his big brother for a change. But seeing the impact his resurfacing memories had on Sam…it wasn't good. In a way, Sam was having to relive everything along with him. Bobby, Dean being a demon apparently, and whatever else would eventually come next.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly in a way that was not at all convincing. His eyes drifted down to the gold charm on his neck and he remained silent.

Luna, thankfully, seemed to get the hint that the 'icebreaker' session was getting more serious, and so she switched to another topic. She jotted down a few notes, which Dean guessed were probably topics to discuss next time, but started asking him about cars again.

After a few minutes of talking about how he had repaired the Impala and everything that went into it, Dean's muscles began to relax a little. He was still more guarded, but he was grateful to be talking about something that wasn't quite so compromising and difficult. He could talk about cars all day long if he had to, but everything else not so much. He knew the time would come when he'd probably have to talk it through, but it wouldn't be this session and this day.

* * *

As promised, Dean texted Sam as soon as the hour was up and leaned against the wall of the hospital's exterior for a few minutes, enjoying being out of the confines of the office. The Impala eventually rumbled up, Dean watching carefully to make sure that Sam was driving it alright.

Instead of just picking him up, Sam pulled into a spot, shut the car off, and got out of the seat before he tossed Dean the keys.

"You're serious?" Dean asked, a bit of light in his eyes.

"Hey, doc said you're cleared to drive, so why not?" Sam replied with a slight smile on his face as he walked around to the passenger seat and got in.

Dean pretended that it was just Sam getting back into normal habits and not a distraction from what he must have looked like after the session, but Dean would take any attempt at normal he could get.

Dean jingled the keys in his hand for a moment before he slid into the driver's side and put the key in. Man, he had missed driving Baby and they were still in the parking lot. Sam watched him more carefully than he usually did, but he had reason, as Dean got out of the lot and onto the streets.

"How'd it go?" Sam eventually asked, as Dean hadn't given him a report on it.

Dean shrugged, keeping his hands on the wheel and eyes on the road. "Fine. Was like an icebreaker session. She asked about my life, we talked about cars, stuff like that," he said, omitting some of the details.

Sam nodded at the explanation.

"Set up another meeting, she thinks once a week would be good," Dean added, to which Sam turned his head to look at him better.

"And you're okay with that? I mean, that's good to hear, just want to make sure it's alright," Sam said, having not expected the total 180.

"Couldn't hurt, right?" Dean said, casting Sam a quick glance. He didn't want to go back necessarily, but both his brother and the doc had points. "Besides, she'd hound me if I said no," he added as a bit of a cover.

"Good point," Sam let out a breathy laugh, though Dean's little brother senses let him know that Sam wasn't totally buying the whole thing. Which was fine, because Dean wasn't buying it all either.

* * *

Once they got back to the bunker they said hey to Cas, talked a bit, and collectively got something together for dinner. They ended up in Sam's room to watch an episode of _Game of Thrones,_ of which Cas was pretty confused about, having come in during the middle of a season. Amid his somewhat stupid questions Dean found himself smiling as he and Sam explained, but there was still something irking him.

If only he could explain the mess in his head as well as he could explain the mess of plot lines on screen…

He excused himself to go to bed after two episodes, but even after getting ready and shutting off the lights, his brain kept going. He was thinking, trying to dig at memories that weren't there, trying to find ways to word everything to Sam and Cas that wouldn't cause them to relive it all over again.

By the time he looked back at his clock, an hour had passed, the bunker was quiet, and Dean sat up in bed. An idea had started forming in his head, one that was getting harder to push down.

He needed out, he just needed some space to think. Sure, he had a room by himself, but he needed actual space…just for a few hours. Being trapped in the office and then stuck in an underground bunker with no windows definitely wasn't helping anything. There were two places that made sense for him to go, but after some thinking, he had it narrowed down to one. It was a few hours away, but it was one of the last places where things made some semblance of sense.

Soon, Dean was up and putting on his boots, mind made up. Sam would be pissed, Cas too probably, but Dean needed to go. Just a few hours to sort things out, he told himself. He wasn't dropping off the face of the earth, he was just going on a mental health trip.

Dean scrawled a quick note in explanation and left it on his pillow, because Sam would probably check his room first for anything. With practiced stealth, Dean slipped out of his room, past the library, and down to the garage without encountering Sam or Cas or making a sound.

He creaked open the Impala's door and got in, smiling for a split second at the familiar position behind the driver's seat, before he got the car turned on and drove out of the garage, hoping the walls were thick enough to mask the sound of the growling engine.

The ground passed quickly under the tires on the backroads that crisscrossed Kansas. Dean didn't need a map for where he was going. The sun eventually began to rise and by that time, his phone had rung five separate times, but remained untouched on the passenger seat. On the sixth time, Dean pressed play on whatever tape had been in the player. He just needed a few hours to himself, by himself, with nothing else. Sam would probably catch up anyways. What Dean would do when Sam found him, he didn't know, but he'd figure it out…more or less.

That was the story of their lives, anyways, they'd figure it out. No reason to stop with that motto now, no matter how poorly it seemed to be working.

* * *

 _First things first, I apologize for the late update. It's been a bad few weeks all around, and I just needed a bit of extra time to get this chapter going, so fingers crossed it turned out alright. How's Dean dealing with Dr. Hall? Where's he off to? And exactly how unhappy will Sam be with this latest development? Lots of questions :) thanks to Celtic Knot, TXKimsonFan, and DearHart for reviewing, you guys keep me going after these bad few weeks, it's always wonderful to hear your comments._

 _NOTE: There will also not be another chapter this coming weekend. I know, I know, I'm sorry, but I'm actually headed to Vegascon *Yay!* and have an English essay to do beforehand, so time will have to be spent writing that first. If anyone else is going, shoot me a message! Anyways, I'll see you guys next week with the resolution to this mini cliffhanger! Thanks for reading!_


	21. Chapter 21

_And we're back! Thanks for waiting the extra week, hopefully this extra long chapter makes up for some of it. Vegascon was amazing and I've got tons of stories that I'd love to share if anyone wants ;) I do now have a picture of Jared with a Thor hammer and Jensen with a Captain America shield and let me tell you, it's epic. Anyways, post con blues are still a thing *boo back to normal life* so any feedback on this chapter would be massively appreciated. Thank you so much to Celtic Knot, TXKimsonFan, and onanickle for your previous reviews. You guys keep me writing :) With that, I hope you enjoy the chapter!_

 _I own a few pictures, but not Supernatural itself._

* * *

Sam had always been an early riser. Especially recently, he had a reason to make sure things were alright before he continued about his day. Still in his sleep clothes, he padded down the hallway, stopping only briefly at Dean's barely cracked open door and dark room. Sam didn't bother opening it further in fear of waking Dean up when he definitely needed the rest.

Instead, Sam headed to make a pot of coffee, which always got Dean up. Just before the sun started to rise, Sam had the coffee done and was in the kitchen pouring out a few mugs, but still no Dean, which was a strange deviation from their somewhat reliable habits. Dean still liked to sleep more, but coffee did a good job at waking him up.

"Morning, Sam," Cas greeted as he walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"Hey, Cas," Sam replied with an easy smile, going to grab a cereal box before he stopped himself and turned around. "Have you seen Dean this morning?"

Cas shook his head. "Is that cause for worry?"

Sam shrugged. "Not sure. I mean, he turned in early last night, and when he does he's usually up for coffee," he said, thinking out loud but he eventually shook his head. He was overthinking it, that was all.

"I was in one of the rooms last night, researching, but I didn't hear anything," Cas added.

That should have been a comfort, but there was something not quite right that was nagging at Sam. Still, he poured the cereal and got utensils out, maybe making a bit more noise than he should have, but Dean still didn't appear. In the few minutes it took him to finish breakfast and get caught up with Cas, he was getting worried.

"I'm gonna check, just make sure everything's alright," Sam eventually decided aloud. Maybe medications had knocked him out or something, but it still warranted a check. Cas nodded, remaining at his place at the table where he flipped through a newspaper as Sam made his way down the hall towards Dean's room.

He propped open Dean's door when he reached it, light flooding in as he did so. He didn't say anything at first, hoping the incoming light wouldn't wake his brother up immediately. But it didn't. That light revealed an unmade bed, but no Dean in it. No boots by the dresser either and no wallet next to the bed. Sam quickly turned on the room's lights to make sure he wasn't just seeing something. The light's revealed exactly what he thought he had seen, much to his dismay.

He continued to look around the room and even took a peek into the bathroom before he came back to the unmade bed, as if Dean had just gotten up, taken his boots and things and left. Sam's heart immediately sped up as he noticed the slip of white paper on Dean's pillow. Every single time Dean had left a note in recent years, it hadn't been good. It had told Sam to let him go or that he was giving up Baby…Sam didn't know if he could handle reading another note like that simply because of what must be coming afterwards. Notes always meant something worse was coming.

He walked over to the bed and with slightly shaking hands, picked up the folded piece of paper and opened it. _Don't worry, Sammy, be back soon._

Of course, the first two words didn't stop Sam's worry at all. Soon? How soon was soon? Hours? Days? Dean just up and left in the middle of the night and just said he'd be back soon?

Sam pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. Dean probably needed space, he got that, but he couldn't leave him to face the world by himself, not this time, not with everything else that was rattling around inside his brother's head.

He checked over the note again, as if there would be something on the back, but there wasn't. Then he was out of the room, taking a jog down to the garage, praying his brother had only gone for a walk and not for a drive.

When he flicked on the lights there, his chest tightened another few degrees. The spot where the Impala usually sat was barren with no sign that it had even been there in the first place.

"Damn it," Sam muttered under his breath and broke into a run back down to the kitchen. Cas stood up as Sam came in, note in hand, which he passed off to Cas. "Impala's gone. I don't know where, he just up and left. He's probably got a good few hour's head start."

Cas quickly read over the note with a scrunched brow, obviously worried by the sudden turn of events. "No idea as to where he would be headed?"

Sam thought for a moment before he shook his head. "No, none, he never mentioned anything…" he trailed off. "But he took his phone and there's a lojack on the Impala in case of emergencies, we can track those," Sam mentioned, heading back down the hallway into his room, with Cas close behind. Once he got there, he grabbed his phone and dialed Dean's number, not at all surprised when it went to voicemail. He tried again, with the same results, and tossed the phone back onto his bed in exasperation.

"Sam, before we go after him, are you sure he wants to be found?"

Sam shook his head. "Obviously not, but we can't let him be out there by himself right now, there's too much that could happen," he said. He grabbed his laptop and handed it to Cas. "Remember the trackers I showed you? Get those up and running, I'll meet you in the library."

Cas, thankfully, saw that the younger Winchester would not be budging on his position, and didn't put up any more of a fight. A few minutes later, Sam had changed and grabbed a spare set of keys to one of the backup cars and met Cas in the library.

The angel had the Impala's and Dean's phone trackers set up when Sam got there. His phone was also on the table, as he had been trying to reach Dean as well.

"Any luck?" Sam asked, leaning over the back of the chair. Sure enough, there was a dot on the screen that was steadily moving.

"It says that he has been heading east for approximately the past three hours. Is there a specific destination that you could recognize?" Cas asked, looking up from the screen at Sam.

He studied it for a moment before he nodded. It was a long shot, but due east and slightly south meant Lawrence, at least he hoped. What Dean would be going to Lawrence for though, he had no idea. "Yeah, it looks like he's heading to Lawrence."

"Your home town? Why?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders and went to put on his jacket. "No idea, but I'm taking one of the other cars and I'll follow."

"I should come with you," Cas started, but Sam shook his head.

"No, Cas, you need to stay here. I need you to call me when he stops or if he takes a detour, alright? And call him every few minutes. Maybe he'll get fed up enough to actually pick up," Sam muttered. After seeing that the angel agreed to the plan, he nodded once more and started off for the garage, leaving Cas in the library with the computer.

He tried calling Dean again as he made his way to the car, and again it went to voicemail. After a string of curses floated through his mind, Sam finally reached the car and started off in the direction of Lawrence. He went a bit faster than the speed limits allowed, but only because he knew his brother was probably doing the same thing and he had to reach him before anything happened. Hopefully there was a logical reason, but as Sam kept driving, he was less and less sure.

His phone finally rang an hour later and Sam hurriedly picked it up. While it wasn't Dean, it was Cas, and that meant news. "Hey, Cas. Tell me you've got something," Sam said, putting the phone on speaker.

There was some slight rustling on the other end before Cas responded. "Both trackers have stopped in the same location, just outside of Lawrence," he supplied.

"Got a specific spot? How far out?"

A pause came before the answer. "There is a specific spot," Cas started, leaving Sam to wait for the other half of the sentence. "He went back to Stull Cemetery."

Those two words had Sam's grip on the steering wheel tighten immediately. He had been thinking Lawrence as in their old house if anything…but not that horrible place. "And you're sure that's where he is, Cas, absolutely positive?"

"I would not mistake this location, Sam," the angel replied, his tone conveying just how sure about it he really was.

Sam let out a sigh and shook his head ever so slightly. "Thanks, Cas," he eventually got out. "Call if anything changes, I'll let you know if anything develops on my end."

"Of course, Sam. Bring him back." With that, the ends disconnected, and Sam was again left by himself.

There was no way in hell he was coming back without Dean. He pushed the car a bit harder, but even at its top speed, it would take at least three hours to get to Dean, provided the weather held up at its current barely above freezing temperature. Why his brother had gone to Stull of all places, Sam had no idea. But that combined with the note Dean had left combined to form a pit in Sam's stomach, somewhat akin to the one he had jumped into all those years ago.

* * *

Dean was half surprised to find that the old boneyard was still more or less standing when he drove up. The years hadn't washed away the tombstones or the few wooden structures that littered the area. It looked just as Dean remembered from a few months ago in his own head.

He eventually parked and turned off the Impala and stared out the window, not doing anything else. He had planned on heading here, and now…here he was. He could have gone to Lawrence, but he didn't need those added painful memories. He could have gone to Lisa and Ben's house, but he didn't know who lived there anymore, and they wouldn't remember him anyways. Bobby's house, if it was still standing, was out of the question.

Dean had narrowed down his options and by process of elimination, Stull was the last solid location that had meant anything concrete to him. It was awful and horrible and was the site of the literal almost apocalypse, but it was the last place that still made _sense_ to his muddled brain. He knew everything that had happened in painstaking detail. Everything that let up to it, during it, and everything that followed up until the amnesia clicked in.

Sam, Lucifer, Michael, and Adam had all been gone. Cas went back to heaven. Bobby went back to his house. Those were the concrete facts that he knew. He could lean on them. There weren't any strange memory flashes or worries that going around a corner would trigger the fact that he had been a demon for a time.

It was just an old boneyard, and that was what it would remain for everyone outside of the little circle of hunters and an angel that had stopped the apocalypse.

Dean eventually got out of the car, phone in his pocket, not bothering to check how many missed calls he had now. He walked through some of the graveyard, taking in the silence and the fact that it was just him and him alone out there with his thoughts.

He stopped when he reached the somewhat circular portion of grass that remained dead after all these years. Dean didn't have to even think about why that portion of grass was dead. Opening up a portal must have done hell on the root systems in that area, anyways.

That patch signified the last time, in his linear history that he remembered, that he thought he'd ever see Sam. Not the still towering, slightly scruffy, more weight on his shoulders younger brother that was physically older than Dean felt. But the younger brother that didn't deserve everything the world threw at him, that only a few years back still had bangs. It was quite a change.

Slowly, Dean decided that standing was pointless, and while the ground was slightly wet, he didn't mind. He crossed his legs under him and sat down next to the dead patch of grass and began pulling at it with his fingers.

This was what he had wanted: a bit of time and some space to think things through. But what did he really need to think through? Acceptance? To what degree? A way to fix all of this? Yeah, like that was going to happen anytime soon.

Dean let out a half angry sigh and turned his head towards the cloudy sky above him, as if looking for answers. But God hadn't stepped in with the apocalypse, and unless that had become friends or something with the deity in recent years, Dean doubted the man upstairs would step in for something as seemingly simple as a Winchester losing his marbles.

He wasn't necessarily a man that was good at asking for help, and even less so on a strictly personal level. It wasn't like Sam and Cas didn't need help with this whole thing either, but unlike normal, he was fairly powerless to do much to help them while trying to help himself. He hated it.

"What am I supposed to do?" he quietly asked the dead grass in his fingers, as if it could answer him. He had to be patient and wait for his memories to come back, but even then it wasn't a complete guarantee. And it wasn't an immediate solution. Dean didn't do well with patience without a guarantee that it would pay off in totality at the end.

He kept toying with the grass until his fingers practically became numb from the cold weather, but he didn't feel it. He didn't stop when he heard the other car roll up. His eyes remained on the dead circle in front of him and he knew that his brother had come to drag him back to the land of the living.

* * *

Sam had followed the road, breaking a few speed limits as he did so, before he finally reached the cemetery and slowed down. It was late morning, but that didn't help much with the cold weather. He drove the back up car slowly through the broken gate and fought down the memories coming to his own mind.

Rock of Ages, Lucifer beating Dean to a pulp, the pit…Sam kept his eyes on the ground in front of him and shut off the car as soon as he saw the Impala. He didn't immediately see Dean, which was cause for worry, but there was no way Dean would leave the Impala too far away from himself. Sam called Cas to tell him the news before he got out of the car.

He opened his mouth to call for Dean, but promptly closed it, not knowing what sort of headspace his brother was in at the moment. Trying to calm down did nothing as he weaved around headstones, finally stopping in his tracks when he spotted his brother. Where he was and everything about his body language did a good job of almost breaking Sam's heart.

Dean was sitting cross-legged on the ground, almost like a child. His back was hunched over and his fingers were rolling something around in them, probably grass, but Sam couldn't really tell. He was on the outskirts of a dead patch of grass in the shape of a circle and after another second Sam realized that was where the pit had opened up.

In Dean's memory, this was the last place he had seen Sam. And then, Dean's leaving to come to Stull made just a bit more sense.

"God, Dean," Sam whispered under his breath, which puffed out in front of him. Dean had to be freezing, but he didn't move as Sam made his way over.

"Dean?" he asked quietly when he got close enough, reaching out a hand to just barely brush his brother's shoulder. Dean's hand stilled its movement, but his eyes still weren't totally focused, like he was deep in thought.

Sam got down to the same level as Dean, sitting down beside him in the dead grass, not wanting to tower over his older brother, whose larger than life persona didn't seem to want to fit into the form on the ground.

"What's goin' on, man?" Sam said a minute or so later when Dean still hadn't replied. He kept his eyes on Dean and watched as his gaze began to regain some sort of life.

"You found me," Dean eventually said in a gruff voice. It was a statement, he had expected Sam to find him, just maybe not so quickly.

"Of course, Dean. Can't let you go on a roadtrip without me," Sam replied, and tried for a smile. He was just glad that this time he had found Dean, there didn't seem to be an impending doom or physical danger. The silence returned, and while Sam was doing his best to be patient, he needed to know how bad off things were so he had some idea of how to fix them. He opened his mouth to ask again, but Dean beat him to it.

"Just…thinking," he slowly answered Sam's question. "Sorry 'bout runnin' out, I just needed some space." His tone was apologetic, even in his state he knew how worried he had probably made Sam. But his eyes didn't lift up to look at his brother.

Sam nodded at that. "Answer your phone next time?" he asked. It wasn't much to ask for, and it brought more peace of mind than a mad dash to the former site of the impending apocalypse.

Dean didn't reply, but he dropped the grass from his fingers and shifted, his gaze still on the circle.

"You know, this," he gestured weakly with one hand to the ground in front of them, "I never thought I'd see you again, Sammy." With that quiet admission, he finally lifted his pained gaze up to look at Sam. Sam, of course, knew, but it didn't make hearing the sentence from his brother's mouth any easier. "And that…that is one of the last things that makes sense to me. How screwed up is that?"

He tried for a laugh and a smile, but ended up just shaking his head. He didn't have to put on the bravado. Not when Sam had driven hours, probably knowing what he was going to find. But Dean was still trying to shelter him, in whatever small way possible, from the storm inside his mind, and Sam could tell that it was eating away at him.

"You jumped in, I went with Lisa and Ben, who don't even know I exist anymore, and the next thing I know, I'm in a hospital bed. You're older, Cas is older, Bobby's dead, I was a freaking demon, and that's just the tip of the iceberg I'm guessing," Dean's voice raised a bit in caliber and he took a breath to steady himself.

"I don't know what else is in here, Sam," his voice dropped down again as he vaguely pointed to his own head. The _and I'm scared to find out_ was right beneath the surface and went unsaid, but Sam heard it all the same. "Other world ending events? Someone else we care about biting the bullet? Me? You?" he cut himself off at that.

"Dean," Sam said gently, trying to stop the tirade, but Dean's thoughts kept spilling out.

"What if I never remember any of it?"

The question sat like the elephant in the room that it had been the second Dean woke up from his coma. The big, giant, ugly what if was now spread out on the patch of dead grass beneath their feet.

"You will, Dean, the doctors all say you will, you just need to give it time."

"But what if? Sam, our lives are practically made of 'what if' scenarios going wrong. This could just be another to add to the list," Dean replied with a shake of his head. His shoulders sagged a bit further, as if changing their shape under the weight of the question that was finally out in the open. "What if I never get back _seven years_ of memories? No context, no linear plot, just a flash here or there of a body on the floor."

"Hey," Sam stopped him form continuing any further with a hand on his knee. "That's absolutely, completely, and utterly the worst case scenario. It won't happen."

Dean opened his mouth again to protest, but Sam beat him to it. "If it does, which is a big if, then we deal. We make new memories. You'll have a blank spot, but we can work on filling it in with time. And yeah, a lot of it's bloody, but it's not all bad."

Dean's head turned up a bit at that, looking at his brother curiously.

"We will work through it, Dean. But this," Sam gestured to the air around them, "running off, leaving notes, not telling Cas and I what's going on, that doesn't help anyone. We need to help you on this Dean, you need to let us, that's the only way any of this gets better. It's okay to share the weight for a change."

Dean had gotten better with it over the years, granted it was to a degree, but Sam was still dealing with newly post-apocalypse Dean that had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn't know how much Dean had shared with Lisa about their…situation, but he doubted it could have been very much. He needed to know that he had people to lean on that got it.

"Help me help you," he summed up. Dean's eyes drifted back to Sam's and it took a few seconds before he slowly nodded.

"Stone number one?" Dean asked, like Sam had mentioned a little while back.

The mention of that moment made Sam smile in the slightest. "Stone number one," he agreed.

They lapsed into silence again until Sam could see some of the tension lessen in Dean's shoulders and he sighed. The exhaustion was probably catching up with him, Sam noticed. He didn't know when his brother had woken up, or if he had slept at all, and how long he had been out in the cold. Sam stood up, knees cracking just a bit after having been seated for so long. Dean watched him get up, but made no movement to himself.

Sam stretched down a hand and after a moment, Dean grabbed it and Sam's forearm and together they hauled Dean up from the dead grass.

It was Sam's way of saying 'I've got you' and Dean's silent reply of 'I know'. They then slowly began to make their way back to the car, Sam sticking closer to his brother's side just in case, leaving the patch of dead grass and the elephant in the room behind them. The note had meant a storm was coming, but this was one that they could ride out together. It wasn't like they had any other choice.


	22. Chapter 22

_I am continually apologizing for the lateness of chapters, but it's good to be back. The good news is that my massive English research essay is done, so I should have a bit more time to write. Again, thanks for sticking with the story, and let me know what you guys think of the ending of this chapter ;) Massive thank yous to Celtic Knot, freetobescary, VegasGranny, and Bjester74 for your reviews, you guys keep me motivated. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Getting Dean to the Impala took a few minutes longer than it should have, as his legs were stiff and the rest of his body was cold from having been sitting tense on the ground for so long. Eventually, Sam did get him situated in the passenger side and only left for a second to grab a blanket out of the trunk and take a moment to compose himself.

He'd pulled Dean back from the edge, and in the very location where Dean himself had failed to do the same years ago when the fate of the world hung in the balance. But this, piecing his brother back together, surely it would be easier than trying to piece back the world…right?

He got into the front seat next to his brother and unfolded the blanket to place over Dean's lap. He didn't refuse it and he didn't take it, he just sat and stared blankly out the window, as if in a trance.

When Sam turned the Impala on and pumped up the heat, the legos in the vents started to rattle. Maybe it was that, or the eventual warmness that started to fill the car, but slowly Dean started to come back to himself. Sam wasn't driving anywhere until Dean was.

Dean cast a glance out the side window where the car Sam had used was sitting. He then turned back to Sam with a questioning look on his face, but didn't open his mouth. It was fine, Sam got what he meant. He could still understand his big brother's coded facial expressions. "Dean, it's fine. Cas and I will pick it up or something. Or it'll sit here, we've got plenty of backups, and it's not exactly a car we're tied to," he explained.

Dean seemed to take that explanation, his form losing a bit of its rigidity. His fingers found the edge of the blanket and began fiddling with it, which Sam took as a decent sign. Slowly, he shifted the Impala and turned it around and away from the cursed place that had once taken him and had almost taken his brother.

He had a few ideas forming in his head. The first was easy enough to accomplish, but the second was still in progress. It may take some convincing, but after that, it would probably help. Sam just had to figure out how to bring the subject up.

* * *

Almost three hours later, the Impala hurtled back into Lebanon. It was mid-afternoon now, and aside from a few words here or there, Dean hadn't said much of anything. His color had returned, which was good, and his eyes followed the highway as they drove, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

However, he did register when they pulled off the main road and into a small diner just outside of a little shopping mall in town. Sam got into a spot and turned off the car before he looked to Dean, as if for approval. They'd been to the diner a few times before, not enough to be easily recognized, but enough so that they knew both the food and service were worth returning for.

"I'm guessing you didn't eat before you left?" Sam brought up.

Dean shook his head. "Left a bit in a hurry," he affirmed quietly. "They got anything good here?"

Sam smiled just a little bit at that before he nodded. "Apparently they do waffles pretty well," he replied, not mentioning the times they had been there. Dean had gotten the waffles every single time, and had not once been disappointed. It was a safe bet for brunch, at least. "You warm enough? We have extra jackets in the back," Sam mentioned, seeing as how Dean had only just then shrugged off the blanket in preparation for getting out of the car.

"'m fine, Sam," Dean said shortly. But he caught himself quickly and softened his tone and added in a quick "thanks". It had already been a long day, and Sam wouldn't blame Dean for being a little out of sorts. Whether his thanks was a means to put up a facade as to not worry Sam or an honest apology, Sam didn't know, but he hoped the latter.

Even in the afternoon, their breath still made puffs of white clouds in front of them before they got into the diner. A young red-haired waitress who introduced herself as Emily got them situated before she left for a few minutes to give them time with the menus. The diner, for the most part, was fairly empty, given the off time. When she came back with a pot of coffee, Dean got the aforementioned waffles and Sam took pancakes.

"Waffles are basically pancakes, what's the big deal?"

"They're partially crispy pancakes with built in syrup wells, Sam, how can you favor flat, squishy circles over these?"

It was a conversation they had years ago, and had stuck to their respective sides of the debate ever since. But Sam didn't have an exact date for the argument; was it something Dean remembered or had it gotten lost too?

"Still with the pancakes?" Dean eventually brought up and tried for a smile.

So then it was part of the memories that Dean still possessed. For that one, small fact, Sam was still grateful. "I stand by my squishy circles," he defended. It was easy, normal even, to come up with a reply to it. Almost like old times, but not quite. Even the one sentence made it apparent that Dean was trying too hard for things to in fact be normal when just hours ago he'd been freezing his ass off in the middle of a cemetery.

Dean let out a soft 'whatever' and grabbed his coffee cup. The few seconds it took him to put sugar in allowed Sam a moment to text Cas to let him know that they were in Lebanon but had stopped to eat. When Sam looked back up from his phone, Dean's eyes were on him.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who Sam had been texting. "Cas okay?" he asked. His sudden disappearance hadn't just affected Sam, but Cas too, and it was obvious by the look on his face that he had once again realized this.

"Yeah, he's fine. Just making sure the drive went okay," Sam replied easily. "The drive" was also in reference to Dean, and on simple terms, both were going 'okay'.

They were silent for a few seconds before Dean spoke again. "Sorry about the whole…rushed exit thing," he apologized again.

Sam shook his head at that. "Dean, you've only been out of the hospital a week, and there's some pretty heavy stuff that comes with that," he said in complete understanding. "No apologies needed."

While Dean did eventually nod back at that, it was evident by the way he toyed with his slightly chipped coffee mug that he didn't totally buy it. But then again, it was just like Dean, and Sam knew it: carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Emily came back again with their orders, which thankfully brought some much needed lightness to the otherwise dreary day. She then offered to pack up a few coffees to go (probably because they looked like they needed it) but also because she seemed like a nice person. Her long, red hair bounced slightly as she walked to give them the to-go cups and bid them a safe drive back wherever they were going.

The brothers took the coffees with a smile and it wasn't long before they were back on the road, only about fifteen minutes from the bunker, which was a relief. Dean was back, and for the most part things were alright, that was what mattered.

"What now?" Dean asked a few minutes into their drive.

"What do you mean?" Sam replied, not quite getting what it was referring to.

"With this whole…thing. We got a game plan?"

Sam thought for a moment before he shrugged, one hand on the wheel. "Same as always, I guess. Talk it through, keep Cas and I in the loop about what's going on," he threw Dean a quick glance on that point, "see Luna, take your meds, maybe a movie here or there?"

"Fun plan," Dean replied sarcastically, but at least it was something. Maybe, in the tiny little ways they thought might help fix this, they could all combine to eventually form a solution.

"It'll work, Dean. It just needs time. More than a week of time. And it needs communication. Whatever's going on in your head, you need to let someone know. It's not a…a burden you're placing on Cas or I to let us know what you're dealing with, alright?" Sam probably spoke a bit slower than he needed to, but he also needed Dean to get it. If they could prevent another encounter with Stull or a missing brother, it would definitely be nice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean nod, eyes still on the road in front of them, but clear and understanding about what had to be done.

* * *

When they finally got back to the bunker, Cas greeted both of them, happy to see that they had returned safely. Dean excused himself a few minutes later to take a shower, which left Sam to catch Cas up on what had happened.

"And he was just sitting there?" the angel asked as Sam described how he had found Dean at the cemetery.

"Yeah, just…blank. His mind was going, but nothing was getting out. I don't know if I got through to him or not. I mean, I think I did, but, we'll see," Sam said with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

"I believe Dean understands the gravity of the situation," Cas nodded slowly, "and while getting him to describe what is going on may take time, it's really the only option we have, and I think he sees that."

Sam looked to Cas, as if for confirmation about what he had just said. "Dean can be stubborn, but he also cares a great deal. It's just a matter of whose worry wins out, his about making us shoulder too much, or ours about him."

"That about sums it up," Sam nodded slowly. He didn't like it, but they couldn't exactly force Dean to talk, especially if he had no intention of doing so.

They talked about the car for a minute and agreed that if, once, matters settled down, they'd retrieve it, but until then it wasn't of much importance. When Dean came back, they settled on a few movies to watch to get their minds off the situation at hand and tried to enjoy the fact that they were still able to share each other's company.

* * *

After the movies, Dean had decided to turn in early, as he was wiped, both physically and emotionally. This whole ordeal was taking more thinking and worrying than pretty much anything had before, and it was tiring. He had no trouble falling asleep, partially due to the medication, which made him drowsy. But when he finally did fall asleep, he dreamt of Emily.

Or…at least he thought he did at first. He only saw the woman from behind, and her red hair immediately made him associate her with Emily. But when she turned around, in a medieval looking outfit of all things, her face didn't match the one of the friendly waitress.

Something about her though, it was too specific to just be a dream. The whole thing was too specific. Even his own clothes were covered in chain mail. They were in some sort of a tent, again going with the medieval theme. They were seated at a table with a board spread out in front of them. The board had little plastic figures on it in different colors. Dean and the woman were talking and moving them around, as if deciding the best battle strategy. It was as if he were watching the event unfold from an outsider's perspective, but still in his own body, like he was just watching it play out and not influencing anything.

Dean realized fairly quickly that he liked this, even in a dream. It was easy, doing this with her, so she wasn't someone random either, they had a history of some sort. When they did get up, she placed a plastic crown on Dean's head and left the tent. Dean took off the crown and twirled it in his fingers, wondering what the hell sort of dream or memory this was. Had they time-travelled back? Then why the plastic?

He followed her outside the tent, but then found himself in another one. This one was much darker than the red one they had been in just moments earlier. When he turned around, the flaps he had come through were gone. The woman was near the side of the room, her hands up as she faced a man with a fancy looking book, also in medieval gear, chain mail and all.

Dean went up to them, but his actions did nothing. Again, he was just watching something play out instead of being a part of it. Even shoving the guy did nothing, and when he drew a very real looking sword to keep the woman from moving, Dean was powerless to stop him. The man kept reading from the book, and all of a sudden, the woman's fiery red hair lit into a blaze.

Dean could only stand and watch in complete and utter horror as the flames engulfed her red robes until there was, quite literally, nothing left. She had gone up in flames and smoke and then…nothing. Even the man and his spell book were gone. Dean tried calling out to the woman, whose name he didn't even know, but he couldn't find any way out of the room or any trace that anyone else had been there at all.

He tried, desperately, from inside the dream, to make himself wake up, but he had no such luck. It was as if he was stuck in a loop, watching the woman go up in flames time and time again, while he was powerless to stop it. He should have been able to stop it. He should have been there for her to help when she needed it. She meant something to him, but he didn't know what, and it was killing him.

* * *

When Dean finally did wake up, the collar of his t-shirt was wet with sweat. A quick check of his clock let him know that it was just past three in the morning, which was prime time for a rude awakening from a nightmare. He pushed his feet off the bed and they landed on the cool cement floor, but he didn't yet move to get up.

No, he needed a moment to get his bearings. The woman, there was something about her. But as he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with anything. Seeing Emily earlier though, it must have triggered some sort of…something to do with this other woman that Dean couldn't remember.

Sam would remember, though. If she had been that important to Dean, there was a good chance that Sam knew something about it. He was about to get up to see if Sam could help, but he stopped himself. What if the woman had been important to both of them and had in fact gone up in an inferno? What if she was dead and Sam wouldn't want to go through it again? Or, what if she never existed in the first place and Dean's mind was just playing more tricks on him? How much crazy could Sam take?

Dean pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Damnit," he muttered under his breath. He couldn't exactly run off and find answers. No, the only answers were here in the bunker, and Sam could help. Hell, Sam wanted to help, that had been the whole point of the previous day: convincing Dean that he had people to turn to when he needed help with this stuff.

But even amid his younger brother's reassurances, the what-ifs still bombarded Dean's mind in rapid succession. It was almost five in the morning before he finally got up out of bed and padded down the hall to Sam's room.

The red-haired woman in his dreams, who looked so happy, always went up in flames, and Dean needed to find out why. That need, coupled with Sam asking Dean to ask for help finally led him to his younger brother's door. It was already cracked open, and Dean took a breath, trying to assure himself that he was in fact doing the right thing, before he pushed it open a bit further, a multitude of questions on his lips.


	23. Chapter 23

_This chapter is a bit shorter, as I didn't want to introduce anything else after what this chapter focused on. This took a lot of thinking and reworking, so hopefully it does the scenario a bit of justice. If it did, let me know, and if it didn't, also let me know ;) Thanks to VegasGranny, Celtic Knot, TXKimsonFan, and DearHart for your reviews! See you all hopefully next weekend after the much anticipated Scooby-Doo episode!_

 _I still don't own Supernatural. If I did, the 'unfortunate' loss of a specific beloved character would have been handled just a bit differently._

* * *

Sam had never been an extremely heavy sleeper. Growing up in the life, having to constantly be looking over his shoulder, waiting for a monster to burst through a window at any moment, did that to you after a lifetime. So when he heard some soft noises in the hallway before anyone should be up, Sam was immediately awake. Fully alert, no, but his hand was closed around the grip of the gun under his pillow.

His door slowly opened and light came pouring in. The only thing that kept Sam from pulling out said weapon was Dean's familiar silhouette standing in the doorway. He didn't make a move to come in, he just stood there and watched Sam, as if contemplating something. When Sam's eyes finally opened all the way, Dean shifted from foot to foot.

"Dean?" Sam asked groggily, letting the gun rest under his pillow as he checked the time and reached to turn the lamp on. It was about five, so not as early as Sam had expected, but the previous day had worn him out. It had worn both of them out, and Dean should have still been sleeping. "Everything okay?" He flicked on the light and one glance at his brother told him immediately that no, everything was not okay.

In simple terms, Dean looked like he had seen a ghost. His face was a shade paler than it should have been and he was wearing a confused look on his face that twisted his features in the slightest. "Dean?" Sam tried again, fully swinging his legs out so he could sit on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't want to wake you, Sammy," Dean started quietly and pursed his lips, "but, you know, what you said, and I can't get this damn image out of my head no matter how hard I try-" he cut himself off.

"Hold on, what image?" Sam asked. It was obvious by Dean's state that he was fairly shaken up by the whatever he had seen, or had thought he had seen.

"She won't stop burning," Dean whispered in a tone that had Sam's face dropping in color a few shades.

"Dean…who?" Sam slowly got up from the bed and made his way over to the door, where Dean was watching him, as if weighing how much to say. Sam immediately thought he meant Mom, who else could he be talking about? Maybe a nightmare? Something else entirely? "Was it mom? A nightmare?"

Dean shook his head. "There was a woman with red hair. It was…it was too clear to be a nightmare, Sam. The details were too perfect, too crisp, you know?" He had furrowed his brow, trying to make Sam understand when he did in fact get it, through and through.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. But you gotta give me more than a woman with red hair that won't stop burning," Sam replied, now fully awake. Ever so slowly, he steered Dean towards the bed and he sat down on the edge. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed too, about a foot away, and angled his body so that he could watch Dean. Red hair, that narrowed it down to a few people at least, given it was actually a memory and not something else. "It wasn't Emily, was it?" he asked. He honestly hoped it wasn't, but maybe seeing her had shaken something lose?

Dean shook his head, and Sam gave a slight motion with his hand for Dean to then continue. He opened his mouth but closed it again. He clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands, which were wrung together in his lap. Even in the very, very early morning, Sam could read Dean like an open book. It was the same thing they had just gone over: Dean didn't want to burden him in case it turned out to be a bad memory.

"Dean, I can't help and fill you in and give you context if you don't give me something to go off of," he eventually said, trying to convey that he was understanding of Dean's attempts, but he didn't need protecting.

"What if it just dredges up a whole crap load of bad things for you? What if she isn't even real?" Dean asked and raised his eyes to Sam's.

The younger hunter shrugged slightly. "You and your memories come first. Help me help you," he reminded. If Dean kept all of this in, it would pile up on his shoulders until it crushed him, and then they'd both be screwed. Dean would be in so many pieces that Sam and Cas wouldn't be able to help put him back together.

Dean took another few seconds before he finally sighed, knowing that Sam wouldn't back off now that he had come for help. "We were in this tent, this medieval tent of all things. She was in these red robes and I was wearing freaking chain mail and we were moving little plastic figures around on a battle map. She had red hair and she put a crown on my head and…" he trailed off. Because now it was Sam that had the blank stare on his face.

Of course he knew exactly who Dean was talking about. And it wouldn't be an easy thing to hear about, not on either of their parts.

"Yeah, red hair, medieval, keep going," Sam said, his voice cracking just the slightest. It had happened almost a year ago, but it was still raw, and it probably always would be. This wasn't just something you got over. He needed to know what Dean remembered, and then he could fill in the blanks.

Dean watched him carefully for another moment before he muttered a 'crap' under his breath and shook his head. "She left, and I followed her into this other dark tent. Then this skinny guy, he was holding a book and a sword to her throat and he read from the book…and she went up in flames, Sam," he said, as quietly as he could manage. His eyes held a haunted look that Sam hadn't seen in a long time, not even right after Charlie had died. That look had been anger, fueled by the mark, but this, this was something else.

"And she kept going up. Over and over and over. It's like a replay button. And I couldn't stop it, I couldn't do anything. _I couldn't save her_ ," he annunciated. "She obviously meant something to me and I couldn't save her, Sam, what the hell does that mean?" Dean's voice rose in the slightest, but Sam was still reeling over his brother's words.

 _I couldn't save her._ That seemingly simple statement echoed in his mind. Dean couldn't save her in the dream and he hadn't been able to in real life. And Sam…he didn't know what to say. How could he possibly put that whole bloody mess into words?

"Who is she?" Dean's voice was almost desperate, and if Sam weren't in such a state of shock himself, he would've answered right away.

Instead, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, as if either of those would make it any easier to explain what came next. "Was," he corrected. He didn't need to go into more detail, because Dean leaned back and shook his head again.

"She's gone?" Dean checked, and when Sam nodded slightly in affirmation, he closed his eyes. "Damnit," he muttered. "I shouldn't have said anything, I should have known something bad was tied to it," he said quickly.

"Dean, no, this is exactly what we were talking about-"

"And this is exactly what I didn't want to happen!" Dean cut him off. "My brain, picking out the worst things to give me without context. I'm a demon, Bobby's gone, and now, someone else we know and were probably pretty close to is dead. Again. And you've gotta go through it and explain it and relive it and watch me take it in. I can't keep doing this to you, Sam, I won't, memories be damned." He started to get up to leave the room, hands clenched into fists as if he could fight his way past the demons lurking in his head. He was resorting to his protective mode, and while usually it was helpful, in this case it would hinder whatever sort of healing Sam could help with. And he wasn't about to let Dean push it all away.

"Charlie Bradbury," Sam got out, almost hurriedly, hoping just the name would be enough to stop Dean in his tracks. And it was. Dean paused midway through getting up and looked at Sam, almost guiltily. "Her name was Charlie."

"We met her right after Bobby died, she worked in the tech section of the company run by the monster that killed him. She didn't know her boss was evil, and she helped take him down in the end. Next time we saw her was at the medieval thing, a live action roleplaying get together," Sam said. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Dean was once again seated, but Sam's own focus was on keeping his voice steady.

"Got rid of the threat there, the skinny guy enslaving a fairy. And you two, you had the best time. You got all dressed up and put on a wig and led her forces into battle," he said with a slight, fond smile on his face. In those years where everything seemed to hit the fan, it was definitely one of their better memories, and Sam was glad that at least in some capacity, Dean had part of a good memory…even if it was shrouded in darkness.

"No fire?" Dean asked eventually, trying to put the pieces together.

Sam shook his head ever so slowly. No, no fire, but he knew where the fire came from, and that was a memory that maybe he'd rather not have.

"What-what happened?" Dean continued. He wasn't pressing, he could see all over Sam's face how much he didn't want to, but needed to, go over this with him. If not, Dean's questions would swim around his head without an answer, and that never ended well. Besides, he had come to Sam for help, even if it was turning out exactly how he didn't want.

"You took on this brand, a curse, called the Mark of Cain, to help you kill a demon. When you…died," he heard Dean suck in a small breath at that, "the Mark took control and gave you a set of black eyes. Cas and I fixed you up, and found a codex with a spell to remove the Mark, and Charlie tried to break the code to be able to read the book."

It all seemed so simple when he explained it like that. None of the ugly background or the blood on their hands or watching Dean turn into something he didn't want to be. Just another solution to another problem. Dean was cursed, and they needed a spell to break it. Yeah, that was simple.

"But…there was this evil, evil family that wanted the book. Charlie sent us the way to crack the code, but they, ah, they caught up with her before we could get to her." Sam left it at that for a moment and grit his teeth. Even years after, it still stung, and it always would. Walking into that torn up motel room and finding her…it still haunted him. And knowing that he was a part of what put her in that position…

"And we burned her?" Dean asked carefully. Sam just nodded back, and the pieces fit together with the fire and the medieval memory. A nightmare wrapped in loss wrapped in the attempt to find a solution to a problem. In short: a mess.

"Did we get the guys that did it to her?"

Sam looked up, surprised by the sudden ounce of protectiveness in Dean's voice. It was a second-nature thing that Sam had learned to pick up on and he nodded. "They weren't a problem after that," he answered, not wanting to go into details on that either. The last of the Stynes had been wiped out by the man who couldn't remember what he had done. The dead bodies he had found in the bunker, the bloodied angel on the floor…

"What was she like?" Dean asked carefully. It was part out of curiosity, part out of the need to understand why exactly she had meant so, so much, and apparently still did.

Sam sighed and the corner of his mouth turned into the slightest smile. "She was a genius, could hack into anything. And she was positive, funny, determined, and…stubborn," he said, "she was always willing to help, no matter what." With that, the smile fell from his face and silence washed over the room.

"We were close to her," Dean said, almost to himself. It wasn't a question, but a statement, something he knew deep down to be true even if his mind couldn't supply the reasons why.

"Like the little sister we never had," Sam replied, a sad smile crossing his face as he did so. And the 'little sister' they'd never see again because a monster had stabbed her and left her bloodied body in a bathtub for them to find. Because they had to burn her on a pyre and watch the white cloth go up in flames to ensure that she'd hopefully never be stuck with more suffering. Because she had helped Dean behind his back and-

"Sammy." It was said quietly, but with just enough force to get Sam away from his thoughts. Sam looked up to find Dean's eyes on him and a light hand on his knee, reminding him both mentally and physically that he was there.

Dean's gaze held an added heaviness that it hadn't before. The fact that he had been the cause of this emotional turmoil and that Sam had willingly submitted to it was evident all over Dean's face.

"Maybe…for now…it's better you don't remember all of it, not at once anyways. Just things like this, you know," Sam got out. If Dean didn't remember some of the loss they had endured, he'd be going around with a bit of a blank spot, but maybe his soul would be lighter. Was it worth it?

Dean was watching him carefully, as if he was weighing the same options in his head.

"It was…it was bad, Dean." He didn't necessarily mean for it to come out, but it slipped past his lips. It had been bad, it had been awful and terrible and messed up and dark and it still hurt. But they never really went through it. Dean went off on his own, got rid of the Stynes, and made a deal with Death, until Sam stopped it. Then Amara came into play, and that took up the majority of their time after. They never really dwelled on the loss too much, or maybe as much as they should have.

It had been overshadowed in the course of events that followed. But this, revisiting it so that Dean could understand, it had taken him right back to when it happened and the issues that never quite got smoothed over. Things they never went through afterwards.

Sam didn't need to say anything else. He looked up, eyes slightly burning, and in Dean's entire posture, he simply saw the understanding. His older brother, minus the memories of the event, was fully able to capture its horror just by how shaken Sam still was because of it.

And maybe it was that understanding, or a need to reassure Sam, or something else entirely, but in the next moment Dean had shifted his position closer to Sam on the bed. Without much awkwardness, he pulled Sam into a hug, which the younger Winchester clung onto. Chick flick moments didn't apply in this scenario, they were entitled to a few.

It was the reconnection they never truly got after Charlie died, and Sam was not about to be the first to break that. They both held on for their own reasons and for a single shared one: the reassurance that the other was and always would be there.


	24. Chapter 24

_We're back, happy Sunday! Just a disclaimer, I know nothing about cars, so sorry if any of that information is wrong. Thanks to Celtic Knot, Bjester74, onanickle, Western Gal, and TXKimsonFan for your amazing reviews. You guys have no idea how happy it made me that you enjoyed the chapter :) hopefully this one is received similarly._

 _Still don't own Supernatural (so I can't claim I had any part in the amazing past two episodes. Scoobynatural, who else loved it as much as I did?)_

* * *

Dean wasn't quite sure how long they sat like that, arm in arm, but Sam wasn't breaking away and Dean wasn't about to initiate it. His head was quite honestly pounding with the new information, and again he cursed the stupid amnesia for putting them in this position. He didn't ask for anything else other than Sam's 'it was bad'.

Maybe it would come to him in a dream, or in a flash, or never. Maybe it was better to not remember how Charlie, a woman who was like a 'little sister' to them, had been killed. Maybe, maybe, maybe, his whole freaking life was filled with maybes.

But not Sam. Sam and Cas, they were the solid rocks upon which his castle crumbled and would be rebuilt.

When they finally did pull back, Dean's hand lingered on his brother's shoulder. It was evident by the way Sam's eyes kept searching for something, anything, from his posture to the way his shoulders slumped to the way his face was fallen…reliving the memories hadn't done him any good. But maybe talking about it had. He seemed sad, sure, but maybe a bit…lighter? Either that or Dean's little brother reading skills had been failing as of late, which even in his state, he doubted. He eventually dropped his hand and Sam ran a palm across his face, as if wiping away the last remnants of the memory.

It was pretty clear that neither of them would be getting any more sleep, not that Dean had gotten much in the first place. They continued to sit in silence until Sam broke it by standing up from his bed, a gesture which Dean mimicked. "Sam?" he asked carefully, just another check to see if things were okay in any way, shape, or form.

Sam cast him the smallest of smiles, he was at least trying to be reassuring. "Follow me," he simply said, and didn't provide any other information. He walked out of the room, down the hallway, and Dean followed in sock-clad feet. Sam led them to the garage and flicked on the lights. The cars were immediately illuminated, and in the warm light Dean could clearly see that Baby was in need of a wash. He felt bad for not having noticed it when he had taken her before, a few hours driving and then sitting in the dust had led to some being stuck to her normally dark, glossy exterior.

"Why are we here?" Dean ventured. He didn't have shoes or keys, and neither did Sam, they'd have to go back inside if Sam wanted to go for a drive, which they often did and Dean wouldn't be opposed to.

Sam made his way over to some of the shelves in the corner and came back with a decent sized box, which he passed off to Dean. Dean held it with one hand and looked through with the other, seeing various liquids and other tools that could be used to change the oil and other running fluids in a vehicle.

"You mentioned needing to get her oil changed before we left on our last hunt, that you'd do it after we got back from it since it came up so quickly," Sam started his explanation. "You went out and got everything beforehand, so we'd have it when you got back, but it didn't pan out…" he trailed off.

"Because you got hurt," Dean finished. The image of Sam's fresh scars immediately came to Dean's mind. That was one memory he figured he'd always have, though the memory of the event itself still remained hidden from his reach.

"Exactly," Sam nodded. "Then the thing with the Brits came up, then…but she could still use a tune-up. So…if you wanted, I don't know, something to work on?" he said it as a question, when he knew that Dean would take him up on it immediately.

It wasn't just something to work on. It was a sense of normalcy that was so seldom present in their lives as of late. It was an opportunity to actually do something productive that he knew how to do. It was muscle memory and actual memory combined. It was a chance to clear his head and sort through what had happened, and it never worked better than when he was working on the car, and Sam knew it. So hells yes, Dean would take Sam up on it.

Dean nodded, and with a faint smile, set the box down next to the Impala's front wheel. "Thanks, Sammy," he said genuinely. Sam nodded back, obviously happy that Dean had agreed with his idea.

They both walked back into the bunker in silence, where Sam mentioned about going on a run, his preferred method of clearing his head, and Dean grabbed his boots from his room. They parted ways again in the map room, Sam heading up the stairs and out into the world, Dean continuing on to the garage with a few work towels slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Baby," he greeted her casually, and rapped his knuckles lightly on the hood of the car before he slid the box over. "Let's fix you up, hm?" He popped open the hood and just in taking a quick peek, he was happy to see that his present/future self still took impeccable care of the irreplaceable car. Dean had expected nothing else.

Dean filled some of the silence with a few tunes hummed under his breath while working, or filled some of it with speaking. Baby was a good listener, after all, and after so many years together, she knew Dean as well as Sam did. Call him crazy or whatever, but it eased him in the slightest to talk through a few things with something familiar that wouldn't judge him this way or that. The rest of the time, he just let silence fill both his head and the garage.

He did a total oil change, as he knew how to do like the back of his hand, added water in for the wipers, replaced the coolant, and generally gave the rest of the engine a tune-up. When he finished, the car still needed a wash, but her engine was as good as it would ever get.

But before the wash…another slight thing that had irked him. The doors always squeaked, but it was slightly worse on the passenger side than it had been in a while. Maybe she had been dinged or something had shifted, but Dean got down on the ground to make sure that nothing was amiss other than a screw needing tightening or some oil needing to be administered. He opened and closed the door a few times and determined that it was on the bottom hinge. After some repositioning, he wedged himself between the door and the car itself and tightened whatever screws held the door in place. He moved, opened the closed the door, put some oil on it, opened it again, and the squeak had faded to its normal amount.

"If only everything else were so easy to fix," he said quietly, even though Baby was the only one there to hear him. He patted the bottom of the seat next to him, but didn't yet move to get up. He sat on the floor, legs stretched under the open passenger door, back up against the passenger side seat and metal exterior, and let out a sigh.

Had Charlie ever ridden in the Impala? If they were as close as Sam said, she must have, which meant that the car had more memories of the flame haired woman than Dean did. It was an odd thing to think about.

Had Lisa and Ben been in the car? Not since he could remember. As soon as he got to the house, Baby had gone into the shed. Dean convinced himself that it was because she needed fixing after she had broken a few of his falls that Lucifer had dished out, but that wasn't it. He could replace a windshield in a day with the right materials, paint scratches in hours, and have the metal un-dented before day two was done and then she'd be drivable again. But that wasn't it.

It was the fact that after Cas flew back to heaven, Dean was left with an empty passenger seat, one that would never and could never be filled again.

Or so he thought.

So Baby had gone into Lisa's empty side garage with a tarp over her until…well, Dean didn't quite know. He had to have taken her out at some point. Sitting next to the car, he liked to think that Lisa and Ben had been in it. Maybe they'd taken her out for a few spins, or hell, maybe even a day trip if things were really looking up. Maybe he'd shown Ben a few things to do with the engine like he had shown Sam those years ago. And here Dean was, back to the uncertain maybes until his brain could give him the information to turn the maybes into positive or negative facts.

Nothing like some car work to get the wheels in his brain turning again. The floor wasn't quite as comfortable as it had once been, which made him wonder how long he had been sitting there. He had half a mind to get up, wash off the car, and head back inside…but he could sit a few more minutes.

Or he would have, if he hadn't heard quiet footsteps coming up the stairs to the garage. Dean expected it to be Sam, back from his run, and was somewhat surprised when he heard Cas' voice.

"Dean?" the angel called. He had paused at the top of the stairs, probably surveying the area, seeing as how the driver's side faced the door, so Dean was hidden from view.

"Other side, Cas," Dean spoke up, not wanting to worry him.

Cas' boots sounded on the cement before he appeared around the trunk of the car, where Dean looked at him. "I apologize for interrupting, Sam mentioned you were here, and after he returned from his run we made breakfast-"

"And Sam sent you to summon me for a pancake?" Dean asked, a slight smile on his lips.

"Yes, he did," Cas nodded back. "Is everything alright?" he was looking between the car and Dean.

"Hm? Yeah, her engine's sparkling, and I fixed up a squeaky hinge, she's as good as she'll ever be," Dean replied, but Cas was still looking at him. So the question had been mostly directed at him, then. "Just thinking, Cas."

"About anything in particular?" Cas ventured a few steps closer. After a few moments of gazing down on Dean from six feet above, Cas made the decision to sit down against the car next to Dean.

The hunter shrugged. "What's there not to think about?"

"Sam mentioned Charlie when I asked about it. That must have been a…heavy conversation to have, I am sorry for all these realizations that you are being faced with, Dean." His face was one of slight sorrow, and it was there that Dean realized Charlie had probably been a friend to Cas too.

Before Dean could reply, Cas continued, his eyes watching the light bounce off one of the older cars in the garage. "And I am sorry that I can not do more to help. Usually, head trauma like this, I would be able to fix, but in the past few years, it has not been possible. Scrapes and bruises I can help with, but this type of centralized, serious damage I can not heal, Dean," he said, and looked back to Dean. The sorrow had morphed into regret.

"Hey, Cas, it's nothing to be sorry about," Dean assured, and shifted ever so slightly so he didn't have to crane his neck quite as much. "You're doing as much as you can, Sam too, that's all you guys can do, and I do appreciate it," he made sure to annunciate it, as if that alone would help Cas understand it. He still didn't know the story behind why Cas couldn't heal like he used to, but that didn't really matter, because the angel was still by his side where he could help.

"I still wish I could assist more," Cas admitted with a slight shake of his head.

Dean was silent for a few moments. "You wanna help?"

Cas' head turned up at that and he nodded, as if eager to do anything that could assist in some capacity.

"I need to finish washing the car, then grab breakfast, you up for that?" he asked.

Cas thought for a few seconds before he looked back at Dean, puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't know how to properly wash a car by hand."

Dean let out a laugh at that, he should have figured. "It's not hard, I'll show you," he offered, to which Cas nodded. The angel got up first, and gave Dean a hand to leverage himself up from the awkward position between the door and the car itself.

Dean then gave Cas the full run down. Buckets, water, soap, sponges, how to wipe it in circles (he may have used a _Karate Kid_ line that Cas was somehow familiar with, which Dean would have to ask about later). Dean found a hose off to the side and used it to spray down the Impala, which they both then dried off.

In half the time, they were done, and once again the Impala was sparkling, and looked much better than she had started off. Dean carried the buckets and sponges to one of the garage's sinks and left them there, as he'd get it all put back eventually.

"Thanks for the help, Cas," he made sure to say when he came back to the car, which Cas seemed to be admiring.

The angel smiled a bit back at him, apparently happy that while he hadn't directly been able to help Dean's condition, maybe he had been able to ease his mental state in the slightest, and that counted for something.

"Now, breakfast?" Cas nodded back at the question and Dean clapped a hand onto his shoulder before he turned and headed down the stairs into the rest of the bunker.

Sam, having return from his run, taken a shower, and cooked in the time Dean had spent in the garage, had a stack of pancakes waiting when they returned, plates and syrup already on the table.

"Car repairs go okay?" Sam asked as he got a few cups of coffee onto the table as well, shooting Dean and Cas a glance.

Dean nodded in affirmation. "Baby is squeaky clean and ready to go," he answered before he took a seat at the table and began dragging a few pancakes onto his plate. Sam brought over Dean's meds with the coffee before he too sat down, Cas following suit.

"That's good to hear," Sam replied, with a genuine smile on his face. Finally, something they could actually fix for the better. Both brothers were a bit more at ease following their preferred methods of clearing their heads. They settled into an easy back and forth across the table and one by one, pancakes disappeared, until they did 'not it' on who had to do the dishes. The sense of normal didn't cover up what had just happened hours before, but it served to smooth over a few things and assure everyone in the room that things would more or less work out.

* * *

The next few hours were spent like many others: getting Dean caught up on shows and movies he had "missed". Of course, Sam knew which ones Dean liked so those were brought up first, and while none triggered memories, they were all still enjoyable. Though, in the routine of it all, Dean found himself getting antsy again, like there was more he should have been doing. Hunting, for now, was out of the question, at least for another few weeks. Sam had made it clear, Cas had agreed, and neither was budging on the stance, so Dean knew better than to argue.

But still, being cooped up in the bunker wasn't doing any of them much good. Sure, it was for a good reason, but still. So, after the third movie of the day ended and darkness had settled, Dean announced that he was going out, and got up to get his boots on.

"Going out? Where?" Sam asked immediately, seeing how Dean's last outing had turned out. At least they were given prior warning this time.

"A place," Dean said simply with a shrug of his shoulders.

"A noncommittal answer in a situation like this is not advised, Dean," Cas reminded, also on the fence about Dean's suggestion.

"You guys are coming with, so quit nagging and get your shoes on, we're wheels up in five." Dean left them, somewhat confused and looking to each other for answers, in the room while he walked back out to the garage. He made a pit stop in his room first and grabbed a few extra jackets in case they needed them with the cold night air.

He had seen a place when Sam was driving them back to the bunker after his previous outing. It wasn't far, or anything really special, but it had sprung an idea in his head. Maybe they had done it recently, maybe not, but it couldn't hurt. And besides, his gleaming Baby deserved to be out in the world.

He slid behind the driver's seat and smirked to himself. When the promised five minutes were up, both Sam and Cas were back in the car. Sam hadn't said anything about the passenger door, but Dean had seen the ghost of a smile on his face when he opened and closed it to a softer squeak than it had been before.

"So…this destination a secret or something?" Sam again tried, the smile having faded to something more serious. Dean didn't want to drag him along, but a surprise meant no telling.

"Relax, Sammy," which probably wasn't a good suggestion, "it takes like five minutes to get there. You guys don't like it, we'll turn around and put on _Pirates_ number…how many did they make?"

"Stopped counting after the mermaid one," Sam replied with a sigh, having acquiesced to Dean's 'surprise' outing. Cas, meanwhile, was silent in the backseat, watching the exchange go down.

Dean turned the Impala on and waited just a moment, listening to the engine, before he threw her into drive and got out of the bunker's garage. Outside, it was just as he had hoped: clear winter skies. The drive only lasted a few minutes before Dean pulled off down a small, dirt road that really led nowhere but stopped by a fairly flat field. He parked the car and looked to Sam, who seemed to have some inkling of what was going on, but the angel in the backseat didn't.

"I fail to see the importance of this outing, Dean. We are surrounded by dirt and dead grass," Cas said, and tilted his head a bit as he tried to figure it out.

"That's 'cause you haven't looked up yet," Dean replied with a smirk. He tossed an extra jacket at Sam, who took it but didn't yet put it on, and got out of the car. His breath made puffs in the air as he came around to the trunk of the Impala and leaned against it with a sigh.

The sky was what he missed most while being cooped up in the bunker. There was no direct line to the sun or the stars above them that he had so often looked at while driving. While the car could seem confining at times, it was always reassuring that the world was spinning on, right outside the windows.

Sam was next to join him about a minute later, and leaned up against the trunk next to Dean. They were both silent for a moment. "You know, we haven't done this in a while," he brought up quietly, as if a louder voice would break the peace around them.

"Why not?" Dean asked simply, not turning his gaze away from the stars.

He heard Sam's jacket shift as he shrugged. "Been a crazy past few months, not much time to spend outside." He didn't elaborate, but it was clear by the way he too looked up at the sky that he had missed it.

Cas finally got out of the car and joined the Winchesters by the trunk. Hands inside his pockets, he too tipped his head back to look at the stars. The slight breeze that blew past them ruffled the grass and twigs around them and served to clear away any clouds that otherwise would have covered the expanse of the sky.

Away from most of the major cities and the light pollution that came with them, the stars lit up the night in a wide array of brightly colored pinholes poked through the darkness. They were endless.

"This view…it is different than it was in heaven," Cas said quietly a few minutes later, "but it is no less spectacular." He now understood the importance of the outing, and just like the Winchester brothers, stood with his head tilted towards the sky, enjoying the reminder that the universe went on, even when behind closed doors it sometimes appeared to be cracking apart at the seams.

* * *

 _I'm trying to keep the story from dragging, so hopefully it isn't. It's a lot of slowly putting the pieces back together, this isn't a quick fix. I tried to put a bit more Cas in because he's been a bit lacking as of late. And the star scene, no explanation for that, it's just one of my favorite images/moments/headcanon things from the show. Thanks for reading!_


	25. Chapter 25

_Happy mid-week update! I didn't want to have you guys wait another few days, so this chapter's going up today. It's not my favorite, but it was needed to get some things moving. Good news: I finally committed to a college for next year, there's a plan for the next few chapters, and a possible eventual endgame! Most of my problems with this story come from writer's block and what to do next that won't be too boring. Hopefully someone enjoys this placeholder discussion chapter. We'll get a bit wayward ;) in a chapter or so if everything goes according to plan. Next update shouldn't take as long! Thank you, as always, from the bottom of my heart, for reading and reviewing!_

 _I still don't own Supernatural_

* * *

When they arrived back at the bunker, it was well into the night. Cas, not needing much sleep, if any, stayed in the library while the brothers went to their rooms to get ready. Not much was said, as if none of them wanted to shatter the peacefulness that had seemingly settled over them, because peace never seemed to last in their lives.

Dean went about getting ready almost methodically, as if his muscle memory knew his nightly routines, but his mind didn't. Still, he eventually found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, but not able to actually get in it. He was thinking, which was about the only thing he did well these days. No new memories, and whether that was or wasn't fortunate he couldn't say, but old ones.

Other nights they had spent under the stars with a beer, braving the cold to watch a meteor shower. Nights they had stayed outside, usually on a hunt, and had been able to find some small solace in the stars above them. That fourth of July memory with the fireworks, the real one, though the one in his own 'falsified' heaven was much more recent. Just…memories, and he cherished the ones he still retained.

A quiet tap at his door had Dean turning his head to find Sam standing in the threshold, clad in a soft long-sleeved top and sweats. Dean was in a similar outfit, but with a t-shirt. Even with that, it was strange to look at Sam in those clothes, which seemed so foreign on him. Dean had gotten more or less used to sleep clothes while with Lisa, but it was strange being back in them, and even stranger seeing Sam in them.

All the time Dean had known his younger brother, besides his kid years, sleeping was spent in clothes that could be used to run out in at a moment's notice. Just seeing Sam standing there, looking comfortable, was a marker in itself of how much the times had changed.

They had a _home_ now where they could cook their own meals, watch Netflix, wear normal clothes to bed, and be relatively safe from whatever the hell was going on outside the thick walls. It was one of the few good strange things to come out of the whole ordeal.

"Dean? Something wrong?"

Dean had probably been staring a bit too long, but mentally shrugged it off and shook his head. "Nope, just thinking, bedding down, all that. You all good?"

Sam looked at him a bit cautiously before he nodded and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "All things considered, yeah, good. Going out, it was a good idea, Dean," he added with an appreciative smile.

Even with everything else going on, Dean could still find some small ways to bring his brother some peace, and he found comfort in that. "You said we haven't done it in a while?"

Sam shook his head at that. "Never really found the extra time, I guess, between research and everything else," he paused afterwards. "What's on your mind?"

Dean let out a sigh and shrugged. "Remembering past times we did it, then. Things are a lot simpler when it's just us and Baby and the sky."

"You're telling me," Sam replied with a bit of a laugh. "Any one moment in particular?" Maybe it was genuine curiosity that made him ask, or the fact that Dean had been staring at the wall for far too long after Sam had come in, but either way, Dean took a few seconds before he replied.

"Wasn't exactly peaceful," he said with a faint smirk on his lips, "but the fireworks. Hell, we almost lit that whole field on fire, but it was awesome. You looked so happy about it, Sammy."

"Well, yeah, when your brother surprises you with fireworks and your first interaction with them is seeing them shoot into the sky and explode into a million colors…you tend to look a bit happy," Sam replied. It was evident from the look on his face that he still remembered the night perfectly well, even though it had been decades ago and he had been fairly young when it had happened. While this night would in no way eclipse the previous memory, it was definitely a step in the right direction to rebuilding.

"Explosions…gotta love 'em," Dean said, maybe trying just a bit too hard but he didn't care.

To his credit, Sam slightly laughed it off and nodded in agreement. "I'm expecting you to top it next fourth of July," he added.

Dean only nodded at that. Sam, sensing an ending to the short conversation and the already late hour, rapped his knuckles on the doorframe and stood up straighter. "You good?" he checked again, just to be thorough.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm good." Still thinking, but Dean didn't have to try hard for his honest answer. How much would change before that promised July, he didn't know, but for today, things were good. He figured that sooner or later it could crumble, but then, for that night, things were good and peaceful. Both Winchesters slept more or less soundly, their guardian angel silently checking in on them a few times throughout the night to make sure of that.

* * *

 _December 19_

In the morning, Dean awoke to a call and a voicemail from Dr. Hall wondering if he could come in a few days early, as she'd had a cancellation and wouldn't be able to see him again until after the holiday break. He called back to say yes, fine, and while Sam was reluctant to let Dean go out on his own (his previous solo outing hadn't quite gone well), he eventually agreed. Dean had to be trusted to make his own decisions, and promised to call before he drove back, and left Cas and Sam back at the bunker.

The Impala shone brighter than she had on her last visit to the offices, less weighed down with the dirt and dust that had been plaguing her. Dean figured that maybe he was a bit the same, but how much so still had yet to be determined. He only had to sit in the waiting room a few minutes before he was called back and sat in the same chair as last time. Dr. Hall walked in a moment later, apologizing for running a little behind, and pulled out a file and a notepad from her desk before she sat down in the chair opposite Dean. Her hair was down this time, but her gaze was no less welcoming than it had been before.

Dean still wasn't comfortable with the whole talking through things, but he wasn't quite as opposed as he had been the first time. As long as he didn't have to explain every single little thing that was going on in his head, another view on things could help.

"Again, Dean, I'm sorry for the late notice and seeing you again so soon, but there wasn't another way we could get you in before the holidays where we take a bit of time off with the exception of emergencies," Luna said, practically repeating what she had said over the phone.

Dean shrugged at that. "No problem, not like I'm doing much these days," he replied. It was true. She wrote down a little something before she looked back up and smiled at him.

"Any holiday plans if you don't mind me asking?" she ventured.

Dean shook his head. Not like they ever had many in the first place, but the past month had been full of events not pertaining to the holidays. They had blown past Thanksgiving while he was in the hospital, and now it was less than a week until Christmas and a week after that into a whole new year. Damn.

"My brothers," brothers because Cas was their officially unofficial brother for these medical matters so he'd have access. Of course, he was as close to the Winchesters as anyone would ever be, but they couldn't exactly explain that to hospital staff. "And I, we never really did much. Moved around a lot with our dad, and odd jobs afterwards. Sam though, he fixed up this little tree with air freshener ornaments one year," he brought up with a twinge of a smile. The memory itself was bittersweet, seeing as it was going to be Dean's last holiday before going to hell. That and they had stabbed a few pagan gods with their own tree, but it was a part of the job. "Beyond that, small gifts, not much," he finished, deciding he had given enough information for it to be considered a decent answer.

Luna nodded slightly as Dean talked, obviously a bit happy that he was deciding to share a few things. "It doesn't have to be much to be meaningful," she said in understanding. "Try telling that to my over the top family, but they try," she added with a small laugh to herself.

"Busy holidays?" Dean asked. He found that getting a two sided conversation going made it seem like less of an interrogation, and apparently she had the same idea.

"Oh yeah," she nodded. "Big meals, fifth cousins flying in from Florida, so much talking in my parent's place you can't hear yourself, you get the picture." Dean indeed did, but he could tell from the way her face lit up that her family's traditions meant a lot to her, too. "But it's good to see everyone again, and then there's enough gift cards to last a whole year, so it doesn't hurt," she added, obviously half joking before she paused for just a moment. "Do you happen to have a favorite small gift you've given or gotten that you wouldn't mind sharing?"

Dean's hand instinctively twitched up, as if to grab the amulet that was hanging beneath his shirt and jacket, where it had resided safely ever since he had gotten it back. "A necklace Sam got me when we were kids. Still got it," he said with a little smile. "I got him a pink baton if that helps, which he absolutely loved," Dean added sarcastically, almost to cover up just how much his own gift still meant. He guessed she'd still be able to tell, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

"I bet he did," Luna smiled back. She quickly jotted something down and asked her next question as she did so. "How are things with Sam?"

"Good," Dean nodded, though the semi-long wait before the answer probably told a bit otherwise. "I mean, considering everything," he amended.

"I'm hoping you've been going through some things with him if they happen to pop up? Memories, thoughts, something like that?" When Dean didn't reply, his mind immediately going to their conversation with Charlie and the memories it had brought, Luna quietly continued. "Dean, did something come up?"

It wasn't forceful, and Dean was grateful for that. How much could he honestly say without A: baring his soul to a practical stranger and B: saying something to convince her that things weren't as 'good' as he hoped they were? Mentioning his little excursion to Stull was out of the picture for sure.

"There was this dream…turned out to be a memory. I asked Sam and it dredged up all this stuff that we apparently hadn't even talked about the first time around." He said it slowly and carefully, his eyes focusing on the table in front of him and then on his hands and then back to the table.

"This discussion, did it help things at all?" she asked eventually, being just as carefully.

"Honestly? Maybe? I don't know," Dean shook his head.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"I only seem to remember the bad stuff, you see, and Sam goes through it all again to make sure I understand at least some part of it, since I'm not given the context to go with it," Dean tried to explain as much as he could as vaguely as he could, which had become something of a skill given his day job. "We lost someone close to us, and he explained it."

"But you didn't like that your lack of remembering caused him to have to?" Dean nodded mutely at the question, which she seemed to already know the answer to. Dealing with a few amnesia patients probably meant this wasn't her first time around this problem. "Is it maybe possible that you feel guilty for being the cause of that even though it isn't really your fault?"

Dean sat stock still in the chair, not sure how to answer.

"Because it isn't, Dean. You telling Sam about this is far better than keeping any of it to yourself, no matter what it brings up. It's better to have it out in the open than to have him worrying about what's going on and you trying to secretly keep it from getting out, trust me." Her serious tone had Dean looking up to find her gaze on him, sincere and a bit forceful if it was possible, as if she _needed_ him to understand this more than anything.

"He's your brother, Dean, he's going to try to help however he can, and it's easier for both of you if you let him in. You made the right call."

 _Help me help you_ echoed in Dean's ears.

"It's not fair to put this on him," he eventually said, and though the admission was quiet, it was truthful. He was supposed to be protecting Sam from painful stuff like this, not being the cause of it, whether or not he had a say in the matter.

"It's not, not at all," Luna shook her head at that, "but you're here to help and look after each other, and sometimes it isn't fair, I'm sorry to say."

Dean, of course, nodded along. He knew that as well as anyone, but that still didn't make it okay. "Wish I could help more," he said gruffly.

"Everyone does. What you're doing, keeping him in the loop, is as much help as you can give, Dean, and everyone is better off for it, I promise you that."

Dean was still working on getting himself to believe it when she looked back down at her paper and her tone of voice shifted.

"So, aside from helping and being helped, I'm hoping you're keeping busy in some capacity?"

Dean let out a breathy laugh at that. "If by busy you mean binge watching Netflix and washing the car all day long, then yeah."

"Having to slow down is a change of pace, I gather?" she asked, though she already knew the answer to that one too.

"Just a bit," Dean said sarcastically but nodded along.

"What do you and your brothers normally do in your free time?"

Dean shrugged. "This is it. Movies, car washes, done. We don't typically have much free time, always out doing something."

"Anything you could continue doing in your condition?"

"If I could, I'd be out doing it."

Luna nodded slowly at that, scribbled something else, and looked back up to him. "So I take it your odd jobs then aren't always the best of the safest for someone a month out of a coma and recovering from a traumatic brain injury with a current retrograde amnesia diagnosis?"

Well, when she put it like that…"Not really," Dean said. He understood her and Sam and Cas' points, it was just more the cabin fever that had been getting to him. The need to get up and do something. There were still monsters to hunt and people to save.

"Well…" Luna dropped off, thinking about an alternate option, "is there any way Sam and your other brother, Cas, could handle the more dangerous portions and you could, say, be the getaway driver?" she asked with a slight smirk. "Though I do hope you're not serial bank robbers."

Dean shook his head and smiled back. "No, not bank robbers, though if we were, I'm not a getaway driver type."

"The classic car is probably easy to spot," she brought up as Dean nodded along. "I'd suggest getting some sort of a law-abiding hobby, something to keep you busy other than the car. A purpose, say, one that doesn't involve much danger or threat of head injury."

Dean had expected as much. For the foreseeable future, then, he was still benched. "How bad would another injury be?" he eventually asked, curious as to what the worst case scenario could be.

Luna let out a long sigh before she shook her head. "I don't want to venture that, anything that presents itself as a possible way to get knocked out or even hit could be extremely damaging. You're still healing. Another blow, of any proportion…let's just say that it's possible it wouldn't end well."

Dean had dealt with 'wouldn't end well' situations all his life, but this was a bit different. He didn't ask if it would mean lights out all together or a less serious outcome because something in Luna's tone conveyed just how serious it very well could be

"I do understand that you need something to do, and you should find something, it would help with the healing process. Some people even find adopting a pet to be helpful," she brought up.

Dean shook his head a bit at that. "Sam's pretty allergic to most things animal related, and the moving about wouldn't be good," he explained vaguely. If they were gone on a hunt for, say a week with driving included, they couldn't leave a pet at the bunker, or in whatever random motel they were staying at. While it could be helpful, it would never work.

"Take some time, think about it, maybe see if Sam and Cas have any ideas for a few less dangerous activities, and we can get caught up on it next time then?" she suggested with a small smile.

Dean found himself nodding along to that. "Sounds good," he replied simply.

Luna took down a few more notes before she capped her pen and looked back to him. "Anything else you'd like to discuss?"

Stull, star-gazing, Charlie, the guilt that he was trying not to have and Sam was trying to lessen, how long it would take for his memories to come back if ever…"Nope, I think we covered all the bases," Dean amended, saying nothing of what was going on in his head.

"Alright then," Luna smiled and stood up before extending a hand out to Dean, which he shook. "I'll call when we need to schedule another appointment, probably around New Year's, does that work for you?"

Dean nodded and then dropped his hand. "Sounds good," he replied simply. They exchanged parting smiles and Dean left the office. As promised, he called Sam before he headed back to let him know everything was okay, and then sat in the car for a few minutes and thought. It was the only thing he was both good and awful at doing at the same time.

Eventually, he steered the Impala back towards the bunker, some form of a plan in his head, but no idea how to bring it up to Sam and Cas.


	26. Chapter 26

_And we're back, happy weekend! Just as a heads up, I'll try to get a chapter up on time the next few weeks, but with AP tests and finals I can't make any promises, so we'll see. Thanks to bagelcat1, DearHart, TXKimsonFan, and VegasGranny for your reviews on the last chapter, they never cease to make my day :) And thanks to everyone for reading!_

 _Still don't own Supernatural (but this past episode wow oh boy. I've got some thoughts on that, and a fic coming up in the next day or so, so keep an eye out if you're interested)_

* * *

The bunker was relatively quiet when Dean got back, with Cas not in the library and Sam not at the map table. In fact, they weren't in their rooms either when Dean checked. A bit confused, he called out. "Sam? Cas?" the sound echoed through the stone and concrete halls.

"In the kitchen," Sam's voice came from a few doors down. They were probably making lunch, figured. Dean followed Sam's voice towards the kitchen, where he was met with both Sam and Cas standing behind the counter, smiling just a bit, neither of them moving from their spots.

"There a reason why you guys are statues in the kitchen?" Dean asked when they continued to remain absolutely still.

"Today is December 19," Cas supplied, as if that would be of any help, in any capacity.

"And…" Dean trailed off and made a hand motion for him to continue.

"So…you've officially been awake for a month," Sam cleared up, smile stretching on his face. "Happy one month back, Dean." The hunter and the angel slid aside to reveal nothing other than what appeared to be a pie on the counter behind them, which Sam brought forward. "Figured you'd appreciate this more than a celebratory cake."

Dean hadn't even realized the date. It had seemed like much more time had passed by, which so much happening both inside his head and out. Getting out of the hospital had taken days, then there was getting used to routines, all the new troublesome memories, heading out, coming back…it was a lot.

And it was clear that it was a lot to Sam and Cas too, but they were also obviously very pleased and happy that Dean was still there to celebrate his month of being back.

"Didn't forget the pie, I should thank you guys just for that," Dean replied with a genuine smile of his own that conveyed just how much the simple gesture meant.

Sam rolled his eyes at that and even Cas seemed to get the joke. Pretty soon, plates and forks were passed around, with Cas trying just a bit of the dessert.

"How'd the session go?" Sam eventually asked, after said pie had been consumed (rather quickly, one might add) and the empty tin thrown in the trash. Dean finished wiping his fingers on a napkin before he shrugged.

"Fine, I guess. She won't be seeing me until after the holidays unless it's an emergency, but…same old stuff."

"As in?" Sam asked, not trying to press, but trying to stay informed. Dean knew it was for the best.

"Making sure I clue you guys in on things, how important it is and all that."

Cas nodded in agreement from his place at the table. "It is extremely important, Dean. It is the only true way that we can be of any assistance, I'm sure she made that point."

Dean opened his mouth to protest that they helped him in many, many other ways, but then he promptly shut it because she had been right.

"Anything else?" Sam continued, breaking the few moment long silence that had followed.

Dean took a second before he continued. "She said keeping busy is usually a good thing. Pets are out, obviously, and I can work on the car until my hands fall off, you guys know that, but there's no…purpose, like she brought up, and it got me thinking."

He tried to find a way to phrase it so that it wouldn't come out like something rash and not thought through. Dean didn't get a chance to say anything though, because Sam immediately turned to him, his face set and his mouth in a line. He knew where this was going, he knew how Dean's mind operated. And just judging by the look on Sam's face, he wasn't on board.

"I wouldn't be in the field, obviously," he started.

"Dean, we literally just celebrated your one month being back, and now you want to head out again? What if you get hurt? You know how these hunts usually turn out!"

Dean shook his head. "Strictly research only. I could stay in the motel, or the car as a getaway driver, not get physically involved. But I could help with interviews or tracking things down," he tried. He knew better than to put himself into the line of fire, but Sam wasn't having it, and neither was Cas.

"When have you ever stuck to just research, Dean? What if we get into trouble and you know? You'll come in, guns blazing."

"I'd stay outside-"

"Sam is right, Dean," the angel cut him off, looking up from the table to the older hunter. "If there were any threat to Sam or I that you felt we wouldn't be able to handle, you'd be in the field with us immediately. And while that's an admirable trait, it's not advisable for situations like this."

Dean stood silent. In his oh-so-well thought out plan, he hadn't covered that. He could say he wouldn't go after them, but it wasn't true, and they knew it.

"We could start off with easier cases that you guys can handle until I'm back. I could stay sidelined…"

But Sam was still shaking his head. "The last 'easy case' we went on took a complete one-eighty in the middle of the woods and two bullets in my chest. We can't take the risk, not with you still recovering. It's not worth it."

Dean understood where they were coming from, of course he did, he'd be arguing the same if it were Sam or Cas in his shoes.

"The potential for further injury far outweighs what could be deemed a 'necessary risk' to take, Dean," Cas added on with a nod of his own.

Dean grew silent, jaw clenched, before Sam came around the front of the counter and leaned against it to look at his brother. "I get it, I do," he said in understanding, "hunting is a purpose, a reason to…get up in the morning, something to do with your time, a way to do good in the world. But even this, just researching, has a potential to go bad fast, and you know it as well as we do. And it's not like we've been doing nothing."

Dean's head turned up a bit at that, looking confused before Sam continued.

"If something simple pops up, I send it over to Jody or someone else to look into. There's plenty of other hunters covering this, Dean, and with everything we've done the past few years, if we take a few months off, the world will keep spinning."

Dean still didn't like the idea of taking any time off, period, but something else Sam had said peaked his interest. "Jody?" he asked. "As in Sheriff Mills Jody?" At least the name was ringing some sort of bell, the cop whose kid had come back as a zombie right before the apocalypse.

Even amid the argument, Sam seemed to drop it and smiled. "Yeah!" he nodded, obviously happy that Dean had remembered something that was still relevant.

"What, so…she's a hunter now?" Dean continued and Sam nodded again.

"To a degree, she still runs the station, but yeah. She keeps an eye on things, us included. She's got-" Sam paused as he looked to Cas for a moment, who looked back up and nodded at Sam to continue. "Two somewhat adopted daughters. Alex, who was being held by vampires. And Claire…Novak." There was space between the first and last name, and rightly so.

Jimmy Novak's daughter…staying with Jody, a hunter that they were apparently pretty close with, that couldn't just be coincidence.

"There is a lot regarding the situation to fill you in on," Cas brought up with a little nod of understanding. "She hunts occasionally, but Jody has helped with…many things."

Dean couldn't even begin to imagine the many things, or how many conversations Cas had or hadn't had with his vessel's daughter. That had to be hard. And because apparently that wasn't the end, Sam kept talking.

"And there's Donna," he added. "Not an adopted daughter, but a cop from Minnesota, she's good friends with Jody now. A bit opposite in personality, in a good way, but she can handle herself."

Dean nodded slowly, his eyes widening just a bit at the influx of information that was coming in. But as he looked from Sam to Cas, it was obvious that there was something else there. "And you're telling me about the four of them because…?" It couldn't just be to assure him that there were other hunters out there.

"Jody's been checking in throughout all of this," Sam gestured to the air around him. "She called while you were out, wondered if we had any holiday plans, I said no, she offered to have us over. Wasn't quite sure how to bring it up, didn't want to overwhelm you." Maybe it was a bit of a distraction from Dean's plan, and it worked, it gave him something else to start thinking over.

That was definitely grounds for overwhelming. With Sam and Cas, it was easier, the two people he knew best from back when he could remember, and that had known him through everything he couldn't recall. But being reintroduced and newly introduced to four people he apparently met and had relationships but couldn't remember, and spending the holidays with them, that was something else all together.

But on the other hand, maybe it could be good. Get out of the bunker, rebuild some things…

"What did you tell her?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "That we'd ask you and get back to her later. There's no pressure, Dean, it's just an option. If you'd rather stay here with pie and Christmas music, that's good too." Cas nodded in agreement out of the corner of Dean's eye. It was completely up to Dean, and while he appreciated it, he also knew that they hadn't been out much in the world recently either.

"She's up in Sioux Falls, right?" he checked, and when he was met with another few nods, he rapped his knuckled on the table. "Change of scenery may be good for a few days."

The smile that spread across Sam's face was genuine, but also just a touch unsure.

"Are you sure, Dean, it's just an option," Cas brought up, to which Dean nodded.

"Yeah, I think it'd be good. Get out of the bunker, have a bit of fun. It would be good for everyone," Dean said, something in his tone conveying that it was final.

It wasn't hunting, but it was something else to do, something that was more his speed for now, and it would make everyone else happy too.

"Can't argue with you there," Sam eventually finalized and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'll let her know." He cast Dean and Cas another smirk before he left the kitchen to head down one of the halls.

Cas was quiet across the table, almost too quiet. "Everything alright between you and Claire?" he asked.

Cas took a moment before he nodded. "It has been getting better, yes. But both Sam and I, we don't want you to take on too much for our sakes as well," he reminded.

Dean shrugged and stood up from his seat. "It'll be fine, Cas. Besides, we probably haven't celebrated a holiday in a while. It'll be good." He didn't give Cas any time to form a rebuttal or another question before he put a hand on his shoulder and walked out of the kitchen.

He could hear Sam's voice ever so slightly, drifting through the halls, and with it, an air of lightness, of normalcy. If Dean could keep it together for the next few days, he hoped and prayed that it would end up being a good thing for all of them. They could use a few more good things, after all.

* * *

Over the next few days, Sam and Jody figured out a day for the three of them to come down and a general plan for the holidays. She refused to let them bring any food, since the drive was a bit long and they had enough on their plate, and gifts were off the table given the busy month they had all been through. Jody with work and hunting where she could, and the Winchesters with everything else.

Aside from a few headaches and strange, but not awful, dreams, Dean considered himself to be doing fairly well. There weren't any new memories as of yet, but a quiet, confused mind was better than a scattered, exploding one in his opinion. They waited in trepidation for Christmas Eve to roll around, and when it did, they packed up enough things for a few days and set out in the morning. The drive from Lebanon to Sioux Falls took about six hours, considering Dean went the speed limit most of the time, usually only to get the slight look of worry off Sam's face as he sat in the passenger's seat. It was their first time far from home, out of the state even, in over a month. And while all three of them half expected something to go wrong, it was fairly smooth sailing.

Along the trip, Sam and Cas filled Dean in on a few things he was still missing. Hunts they had been on with Jody and Donna, how Alex and then Claire got involved, and a general overview. It was a lot to take in, but when met with them face to face, Dean knew that it would help him be less overwhelmed.

Sam directed Dean to the correct house once they reached the city, and Dean deftly pulled the black beast along the curb when they arrived. There was a sense of deja vu as he looked at the house, but nothing specific. They'd have to stay in a nearby motel for a few nights, since Jody's house wasn't made to fit three people plus three (over)grown men, but it wasn't a problem.

"You good?" Sam asked once Dean turned the car off but continued looking at the house.

Dean took a breath and nodded. Inside were people that knew him, but that he didn't really know. It was bound to get a bit weird, but he just hoped that it would go smoothly. Hell, they deserved that much at least. "Yep, what are we waiting around for?" he shot Sam a smirk and got out of the car, his brother and Cas following close behind.

Sam was the one to knock on the door when they arrived, and after a moment, it opened, revealing a blonde woman with a smile already on her face.

"Sam, Dean, Castiel, good to see ya!" she said excitedly. "Jody-o, the boys are here!" she called back into the house. Right, so from Sam's explanation, this was Donna. Jody said something back, but it was fairly muffled and clearly came from a different room.

"Good to see you too, Donna," Sam smiled back genuinely. Donna reached up and gave him a tight hug, which he returned.

"Jody's fixin' things in the kitchen. You can head on in," Donna said, allowing Sam and Cas to pass inside after she had greeted them. They hung in the entryway for a moment as Dean looked over Donna and she did the same.

"Hi, Donna," Dean greeted, just a bit awkwardly, but it faded when she crushed him in a hug just the same as she had done Sam.

"Happy you're back, Dean," she said quietly as Dean hugged her back. When they released, she was still smiling, ear to ear, and Dean decided that a few days of reconnecting with the people he knew may not be so anxiety-inducing after all.

* * *

 _Told you we'd be getting wayward! I'm a bit excited about this, to be honest, and I hope that you guys enjoy it as well. But don't fear, we'll get back to Dean's plan eventually, but we've got a few happier, lighter chapters lined up before we get back to our regularly scheduled programming._


	27. Chapter 27

_I'm always apologizing for late chapters, and, true to form, here we are again, whoops. I'm not totally happy with the end of this section, but I couldn't wrap it up any other way and didn't want to make you guys wait any longer. There is another holiday/family chapter up next before we get back to business plot-wise and get some things moving. On the plus side, AP tests are done, and I'm trying to get a head start on the next chapter so these long breaks won't happen. Massive massive thank yous to VegasGranny, bagelcat1, TXKimsonFan, Guest, Dearhart, and Celtic Knot for sticking with this though all of the sporadic updates, you guys are huge motivators in this whole process :P_

 _Still don't own Supernatural in the 3 weeks that have passed. *but that finale...I am so looking forward to what Jensen is going to do with this next season*_

* * *

Donna did eventually let Dean go, and he followed Sam and Cas inside while Donna shut the door. By the time they were in the main room, Jody was out of the kitchen, hands slightly damp, but a smile on her face.

"Like the hair," Dean commented, which only made her smile grow. It was short and silver, compared to the long brown hair she's had months/years ago. He didn't know how long she'd had it like this, but it suited her.

"Ever the charmer," she replied, making her way over to hug Dean first, maybe a bit tighter than she normally would, not that Dean would know. From what Sam and Cas had filled him in on, they were all close. She had threatened to use a mom voice on Sam, a story which he retold fondly, and that told Dean almost all he needed to know.

He chuckled lightly back when she pulled away and hugged Sam and Cas in succession, leaving them standing in the room.

"Alex is working the night at the hospital, she'll be back for tomorrow," Jody explained. "Claire's in her room, probably with the music on, I'll go bug her in a sec-" she started, but trailed off when the girl in question walked into the room.

"I heard voices," she mentioned, but when her eyes fell onto the three men, she too trailed off.

She was almost…ten years older than when Dean had seen her. It would definitely take some getting used to. She was a full-fledged teenager now, that held herself highly, with the same blonde hair that her younger self had possessed, just more wavy. She came up to Dean almost carefully, then hugged him too, and made the rounds to Sam and a somewhat awkward one to Cas, but at least they were trying.

In a way, it was easier for Dean to keep looking at Donna, who he didn't know and therefor had no one else to compare her to. But it would just take some getting used to, that was all, he just had to keep reminding himself.

"So," Jody started again, breaking the happy silence that had fallen over the room, everyone pleased to again be under the same roof, this time in favorable circumstances, "the main stuff is for tomorrow, but we've got plenty of chicken and other things leftover from last night if that's good with everyone?"

They all nodded in unison. "Sounds perfect," Sam answered for them all. Jody seemed to accept that, and moved back into the kitchen. Claire turned around to talk to Cas, and Donna to Sam, so Dean found himself wandering into the kitchen behind Jody.

"Care to give me a hand?" Jody asked, seeing that he had followed and apparently being happy about that fact.

"Anything food related that I can be of service with, sure," Dean replied and shot her a smile. She passed him a few bowls and plates of things to put into pans, which they then put into the oven. He told her a few things about cooking he had picked up on during his time working as head chef of a million different motel kitchenettes (and apparently implemented in the bunker's kitchen to a much better degree, as Sam had happily told him), and if she had heard them before, she didn't remark on it.

Every so often, her eyes would linger just a second longer on him while passing a tray off, and she'd smile to herself. The light conversation between the two of them was easy to keep up, avoiding touchy subjects, and it didn't take long for Dean to see why she had become so close with them.

She was fiercely protective of the girls, even if they didn't always appreciate it, and he could tell just by the few stories she told of them about how school was going, or about some idiot male nurse who had tried to tell Alex how to do her job. Without her even remarking on it, he knew that protectiveness probably also extended to he and Sam, given how much they had all been through together.

He got his solid answer when, conversations still going in the other room and after the last pan was put into the oven to reheat the leftovers, Jody leaned back against the counter and looked at him.

"I know this must all be…a whole nine yards of crazy and weird," she started as Dean leaned up against the opposite end, "and you've probably heard this a few times already, but it's good to have you back, Dean, really good." There was a slight smile on her lips, not quite surpassing the emotion on her face, the worry that his whole family had probably felt when the plane had gone down.

"It's good to get back to things again," Dean nodded back, not knowing what else to say. "And thanks, you know, for checking up on Sam and everything," he added, remembering how Sam had talked about calling up Jody for cases. While Sam hadn't explicitly stated it, their conversations had probably gone beyond just case work a few times, and he was grateful that someone outside the bunker had been looking out for Sam too.

"You guys have your job, I have mine, no need for a thank you. But you're welcome," she said, her face softening and losing a bit of the worried emotion that had crossed it a moment ago. "Just don't go pulling a stunt like that again in the near future," she pointed at him, half serious, half mocking, which made Dean chuckle.

"Believe me," he spread his hands in front of him, "I think I'm off planes unless the world will literally end if I don't get on one."

"You've got the car to get you stateside, no frequent flier miles needed."

"Exactly!"

"Then I think we're probably covered," Jody smirked at him. "Take it easy, make some burgers, plenty of vamps for the rest of us to decapitate when you get back to it."

Dean nodded at that, but didn't comment further. Jody eventually said that everything kitchen-wise was covered until it was ready to be served, and they moved back out into the main area where everyone else was.

* * *

"And I swear, it was the biggest deer I've ever laid eyes on! You go into the woods looking for a werewolf, not tryin' to find some behemoth with giant antlers starin' ya down," Donna put her hands up on her head to imitate the antlers, which made everyone laugh.

They had eaten and were still at the table, mostly empty plates in front of them, telling old war stories of sorts. Of course, Donna's exaggeration and tone of voice when telling many of the stories was a bit comical and had everyone smiling.

"I mean, I can hunt things of the spooky and normal variety, but it was a big buck! Scared me half to death and then trotted off on his merry way," she said and shook her head, smiling to herself.

"At least yours was a big animal that you got scared of," Sam brought up, raising his beer bottle to his mouth. He turned his head and met Dean's eyes and immediately the older brother knew where Sam was going with it.

"No, no," he said, and held up a finger, "that was the ghost sickness, remember? I've got a perfectly reasonable excuse and you know it."

But it was too late to keep everyone from asking.

"Dean Winchester afraid of an animal of some sort? Do tell," Claire pressed and leaned her elbows up against the table.

"Sammy, don't you-"

"So we were in this abandoned wood chipping plant, right? Looking for a spirit," Sam cut his brother off. Even Cas was intently listening. "And there was this noise from inside one of the lockers. So I went over, opened it on three, and this cat was inside. Literally just a cat. And Dean here, screamed to high hell. What was it you said?" he turned back to Dean.

"You know perfectly well what I said, Sam," he muttered, but it was all in good fun.

"Come on, man," Sam nudged him.

"That was scary," Dean finally finished and shook his head. "But I'm not doing the voice!"

By that point, everyone at the table was laughing at the image of Dean screaming because of a cat, and Dean found himself laughing along with them. Sure, it had been freaky at the time, but it was a comical moment to look back on without the circumstances surrounding it. And there was the fact that it was a story Dean actually remembered, and could participate in the retelling of, something that he didn't get to do nearly enough.

"Granted, he did have a supernatural sickness that made him afraid of everything, but still. If you're ever wondering why we don't have any cats in the bunker," Sam spread his hands over the table, "that's why." Dean shook his head at that, which made them laugh even more.

Sam then told a story, which Dean was sorry to not remember, about killing clowns and getting completely covered in glitter. Donna remarked that it wasn't the worst thing to come out of a hunt, and Sam agreed.

"I got covered in glitter and Dean got a rainbow slinky, so win win," he said with a smile.

Dean paused at that, a rainbow slinky…"Is that where it came from?" Dean asked, and the table around him went silent.

"You've seen it?" Sam turned to him, apparently surprised.

Dean nodded back. "Yeah, it's in the trunk in my room. I was super confused when I found it," he explained it.

"I just didn't know you kept it is all," Sam added, apparently trying to think through a few things, which Dean wasn't familiar with. The smile hadn't faded, but he was definitely thinking.

"Well, apparently I did, because there's a rainbow slinky in with the guns," Dean shrugged.

"Is it useful in getting rid of ghosts?" Claire asked in mock seriousness, amused by the fact that Dean did indeed have a rainbow slinky.

"It still has yet to be field tested, but I will be sure to let you know when I do. You'll get a full mission report," Dean replied in the same serious tone

"Oh, and pictures too, if you could," Donna chimed in and winked.

A minute later, the women got up to get the plates and Cas helped carry over some of the pans. The brothers cleaned up as much as they could help, but six people was too many in the small kitchen, and they found themselves back in the main room, beer bottles in their hands.

Sam was still quiet though. It wasn't a bad quiet, like something was wrong, Dean could still recognize that from a mile away, but it was a contemplative quiet, one that had become more common in the past month.

"What's on your mind, Sam?" Dean asked eventually when he was sure that the others were in the kitchen and would remain there for a few more minutes.

Sam just shrugged it off. "No big deal, nothing to worry about."

"It's the slinky thing, right? About how I kept it. Why's that got your head spinning?" he pressed gently, half out of curiosity and half out of a need to know.

Sam took another drink from his bottle and looked back at Dean. Finally, with a sigh, he opened his mouth. "Because…I don't know how you kept that thing. It was right after Bobby," he shook his head, "and some stuff happened, and you left for about a year," Sam shot Dean a glance that begged him to not ask further, this wasn't the place, "and I had the Impala, and never noticed the toy anywhere. So maybe you stuck it in your duffel and then put it in the bunker later?"

Then it was Dean's turn to shrug. "I wish I knew, man," he said quietly. They'd talk about it later, when they got back home, unless he remembered something first. "But seriously? A rainbow slinky? Why did you get that for me of all things? No toy bow and arrows or anything?" Dean switched the topic back to the lighter side of the story and, to his relief, Sam smiled.

"You were eyeing that thing the second we walked past the counter," Sam said with a breathy laugh. "It was the first time we'd laughed in a while, so the glitter and the slinky were worth it."

"I'll say. I don't have a crate of barbie dolls stashed anywhere, do I?" he asked and smirked at his brother.

Sam shook his head. "Other than the one you stowed in the garage that you think I don't know about," Sam cut himself off to laugh when Dean looked at him in surprise with a 'seriously?' look written all over his face. "No, Dean, the brightly colored toy stash stops with the slinky."

"Okay, good, the less toy surprises, the better," Dean nodded.

"Sounds like you boys are havin' fun in here. Retelling old slinky war stories?" Donna asked, having just come out of the kitchen with a smile on her face and Jody and Cas on her heels.

"Sam was just telling me about his barbie doll stash," Dean relayed, obviously amused, and acted to be hurt when Sam elbowed him in the shoulder.

They left a little while after that, the drive having caught up with them and the fact that they could get some actual sleep before the next day. They ended up staying the night at a nearby decent motel. After the drive and the rest of the day, it didn't take long for either brother to fall asleep, their guardian angel watching over them from his spot at the kitchenette table.


	28. Chapter 28

_A chapter almost on time, wow! This one continues the 'holiday happiness' section, so hopefully everyone enjoys. If the characters are a bit off, I apologize, I'm not used to writing stories with so many people in one scene, but we'll be getting more or less back to normal in the next few segments._

 _Special thanks to bagelcat1, VegasGranny, Bjester74, BaldiDaughterChevy, Celtic Knot, and gr8read. Because of you guys, this story passed 100 reviews last chapter, and I can't explain how much that means to me, honestly, so thank you all for making my day and keeping me motivated with your continued comments :)_

 _I still don't own Supernatural, any episodes mentioned in this chapter, or any films that are referenced, just to be safe._

* * *

 _December 25_

Around midday, Sam, Dean, and Cas headed back over to Jody's house for Christmas. Even though Jody had insisted that they not bring over any food, a few pies made their way into the grocery bag when they stopped in the morning to pick up a few things. A few more pies at Christmas couldn't hurt, right? Dean, of course, was fine with that, and picked out a few of the 'best' flavors. Cas was one to pick out honey for some reason in case Jody didn't have any, which both brothers found to be amusing, and left the store with a small bag.

When they got there, a young woman with black hair, Alex, Dean guessed, opened the door and greeted them all with another round of hugs. She apologized for having not been there the day before, but as Jody mentioned, had been working the night shift at the hospital. She'd been lucky to get the holiday off at all, and they were all sure to tell her to not worry about it.

It was good, having the whole family in one area, even if Dean was still getting used to it all again. Jody, Claire, and Donna had set up some sparkly garland around the house, along with a few lights here and there. Everyone had tried to a degree to dress in festive colors, and Donna had found a green pointed hat with a bell on top from a previous year that she had brought with her and was wearing with pride.

"I would've gotten a tree, but I didn't want to be that festive," Jody joked lightly. The reality was that they normally weren't all home at the same time enough to really enjoy a tree, but she ventured that maybe they'd get one (or at least a fake one) the following year.

Dean smiled a bit to himself, thinking of the few lone 'trees' they had over the years, one of the more recent for him being the tiny one with air fresheners Sam had set up. Of course, it had only been because Dean had been on his way to hell, but for the day Dean was deciding to overlook that fact and err on the side of happiness. Besides, it had smelled good and was colorful and festive, which basically ticked all of the boxes where they counted.

He vaguely wondered if they did many holidays in the bunker. He'd have to ask later. Because with those high ceilings, man, they could fit a giant tree in there. How they'd get it in or out he had no idea, but it would definitely look nice.

"Well, whatever you get, make sure it has an angel on top," Dean said with a smirk and pointed to Cas, who looked back at him, puzzled.

"I doubt a tree would be able to withstand the weight of an angel in a vessel, Dean, and a crushed tree is not very festive," he replied matter-of-factly.

"What about an angel minus the vessel?" Claire asked, apparently curious, but again Cas shook his head.

"Given the size of our true form and the temperature, it…wouldn't be advisable." His answers that everyone apparently should have been able to figure out beforehand were particularly amusing to Donna, who was smiling the whole time.

"Where did the angels sitting on trees staring at us come from then?" she proposed. "You don't typically do that, do you? Sit in a forest, trench coat billowing in the breeze?" Donna waved her arms a bit and laughed, which garnered a smile out of Cas. If he hadn't been able to before, he could now clearly see that they were joking around.

"Apparently the tradition came from the same place that the elves on shelves did. Humans like to be watched during the holidays," Cas explained in a monotone voice, though his facial expressions showed that he too was joining in on the fun.

"Oh, gee, I never liked those things, but when you put it like that…" Donna trailed off, her voice going up ever so slightly in pitch before she laughed.

From across the room, Sam shook his head, amused at the exchange between the group. "Something about staring elves make you uneasy, Donna?"

"They're always watching," Claire reminded sarcastically, and widened her eyes ever so slightly.

"Oh yeah, you betcha," Donna nodded, making the bell on her hat ring, "jingle hats and striped socks and all."

"Blank happy faces of pure evil," Alex agreed, smiling along with them.

"Hey, dolls of any kind are a no, especially the super happy festive ones," Dean added with a motion of his hand, Sam nodding along in agreement. That case years ago in the old hotel with all the dolls…it was still a big no.

The whole group found it a bit amusing that they could all face monsters of pretty much any kind, but fake dolls were still creepy. From there, they launched into a few stories, with Dean and Cas sitting back to mainly listen as Sam and the women talked and recalled tales. It didn't escape Dean's notice that they tended to stick to lighter hunts, if there were such a thing, but ones that didn't have a high body count or level of danger to the hunters involved.

One story Sam told, from years ago, that Dean didn't remember, involved them on a 'hunt' in an alternate universe where they were supposed to be 'actors'. The whole thing made Dean's head hurt, but Sam told it fondly, and Cas seemed to enjoy hearing the other side of the story. Whether he'd heard it or not, Dean didn't know, but the angel was more involved than with some of the other stories.

Donna mentioned a set of cursed stage outfits and a bloodied bunny mask that they just could not get off of the guy. Next to dolls, scary masks were her least favorite.

Alex filled the boys in on a few things that had been going on at the hospital, since she had taken a step back from hunting and only helped when it was necessary. But that definitely didn't mean that she didn't have any stories. Some were just stupid things people had gotten themselves into, others were heroic deeds people had done for others and unfortunately gotten hurt in the process.

By the time many of their stories were exhausted, the oven was beeping in the other room, and everyone spread out to help with dinner. Dean took to setting up the table settings while Sam went into the kitchen. While Dean was putting the plates into place, he noticed that Claire had pulled Cas off to the side. Dean didn't mean to pry or anything, they seemed to have been getting along well, but he was still curious.

"Just…if you ever want to change it up, you can have options," he heard Claire say. She smiled slightly as she passed over a little box, which Cas opened. Dean couldn't see what was in the box from his place by the table, but Cas nodded at it and seemed to be appreciative.

"Thank you, Claire." Dean couldn't see the angel's face either, but he imagined he was smiling too. He then reached into his own pocket and pulled out something small, a knife of some sort maybe? "You probably have a few, but just in case you want to 'change it up'," he repeated, which made Claire chuckle. She took the offered gift with a quiet 'thanks'.

Dean hadn't known angels to exchange gifts, but then again, how many of them were ever around the children of their human vessels? How many even cared that the vessels had children? And here Cas was, trying to make a relationship with Claire, and she had extended an olive branch back. It made Dean happy to see, especially considering how their relationship had left off from where Dean last remembered.

"Coming in hot, everyone watch yourselves!" Donna warned comically, and Dean got out of the way as she came to the table, putting down the ham on one of the hot pads that Dean had set up, everything else already in place. Sam, Jody, and Alex were close behind with the rest, and pretty soon they were all seated and helping themselves.

"Hopefully everything's alright, we don't normally do this much," Jody mentioned as they all started eating, but everyone pretty much in unison shook their heads.

"As long as you didn't Lampoon us, we're good," Dean assured with a grin.

Sam happily rolled his eyes at his brother's references. "Seriously, Jody, thank you." It was echoed with a chorus of thank you's and 'Merry Christmas's.

A few minutes after the conversation had died down, Cas brought up, "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Lampoon, I assume it's a reference of some sort?" he asked, and looked quizzically at the rest of the table.

Dean shot him a quick finger gun with his free hand and smirked in affirmation. "Bingo."

"It's a movie. Basically the Lampoons, this whole family, as in everyone, gets together at the main character's house for the holidays and things get a bit nuts. They overcook the turkey just a little," Claire did her best to clarify with an amused smile on her face.

Cas nodded at that, seemingly pleased that he had at least gotten that it was a reference.

"It's a little more than just a little," Alex brought up. "As in the whole thing disintegrates it's so dry. So no, Jody did the opposite of Lampooning us," she smiled at the older woman, who happily took the compliment.

"Oh, my favorite part was when he gets on the sled, ya know, and it launches down the hill at supersonic speeds," Donna interjected, wine glass in her hand.

"Anything having to do with the cat was pretty hilarious," Sam said, to which Dean agreed.

"So this…comedic family film about dried turkey, a fast sled, and a feline is a classic I am assuming?" Cas asked, just to make sure he was following.

Jody nodded, as did everyone else. "It's probably on sometime today, we'll see if we can catch it." There was a chorus of agreement from the room, and lo and behold, two and a half hours later, they were all seated on and around the couch and chairs in the main room, watching the aforementioned film. It was one of the best holidays the Winchesters had ever had.

* * *

Around six, Donna announced that she should probably be getting back to Stillwater. It took a few hours to make the drive back, and she didn't want to be out too late before dealing with 'crazies' the next day. "Criminals don't take the day after Christmas off, don't ya know?" she joked as she got her jacket on. "Gotta make sure the station hasn't burned down."

"I'm sure Doug has everything covered," Sam shot her a smirk and returned her offered hug.

"If not, I know who to call."

"Ghostbusters," Dean joked back, and hugged her as well, finding the embrace to be just as tight as it had been the day before.

Donna continued around the room in a similar fashion, stopping by Claire for a moment to remind her, face to face, to call if she ever needed help on a hunt. Right, Claire was off by herself hunting, and Dean was still on the sidelines.

He pushed that thought aside, not about to let it ruin the mood of the last few days. He shoved it into a back corner of his mind, hoping to forget about it, but he knew that in that back corner, that was where ideas grew and festered into things he had to act on. This would be different, it had to be.

Donna beeped the horn of her 'D-Train' truck as she left, Jody waving at her from the porch of the house before she closed the door again.

They spent the next few hours together, Jody having pulled out the pies they had brought. Dean was more than happy to partake in eating than talking, and after they had all finished, Jody pulled out a few decks of cards. Together, they taught Cas how to play Solitare, one on one at first, but around nine, they decided to play with all six of them. Needless to say, a few hands were thrown in the way of each other, Claire and Alex looked smug when they beat each other out to get a card on a pile, and Jody reminded the boys to keep their hands to their own decks of cards. Claire won the first round, and of course Alex demanded a rematch, which Jody won "just because she was lucky" as Dean put it.

Both brothers were just a bit glad that they wouldn't have to listen to the other gloat for the whole car ride back, though.

Around ten, they too headed out. More hugs were given, and Sam and Dean found themselves making similar promises to Jody that Claire had made to Donna. Yes, they'd call to check in and if they needed anything, of course they would. Cas promised to look out for them, as always, and with that, they headed out, Dean stealing one more glance at the house as he pulled away from the curb.

They rode the wave of happiness all the way to the motel, where they then fell asleep watching more holiday movie reruns.

In the morning, Cas asked them about the significance of a reindeer having a red nose and if it was truly important to the holiday itself, and after some explaining, he headed out to get coffee and donuts for the ride back, giving the brothers some time to pack up their things. They'd slept in, which wasn't a problem, but Dean was hoping they wouldn't get caught in any post holiday traffic, since they had at least a six hour trip back to the bunker.

Not that Dean was eager to leave, he just wanted to get back to what was familiar to sort through everything. As he was packing up his duffel, Sam seemed to catch on, as he always did, and the rustling in his bag slowed.

"Everything alright?" he asked, trying to be casual. Even though his back was turned to Sam, Dean could tell that he was looking at him, honestly trying to make sure he was okay. They hadn't done any real 'check-ins' while at Jody's, and now that they had some space, Dean had known it was coming sooner rather than later.

"Good," Dean eventually nodded, and turned around after he had zipped up his bag. Sam raised an eyebrow at that and Dean sighed, figuring he should probably elaborate. "I mean, it's a lot to go through, but it was good to see them, get some wheels on the bus and get things moving. Just…a lot to sort through," he left it at that.

"To be expected," Sam replied, seeming to accept the answer, which Dean was grateful for. "But you'll tell me if anything changes?"

"Yes, I will be telling you and calling Jody and Donna as promised if anything changes," Dean said, slightly joking, and smiled a bit at his brother, who rolled his eyes and smiled back. "Seriously, Sam, all good." With that and a hand motion, he was out the door and putting his bag into the Impala.

Cas got back a few minutes later with the promised coffees and donuts, the latter of which Dean was extremely pleased about, and they hit the road.

It crossed Dean's mind for a split second right before they left Sioux Falls to go check out Bobby's place. But he squashed that thought as quickly as he had any others that had threatened to tamper with his good memory of the past few days.

As Sam had told him, there was nothing left but burnt remnants of what used to be a home of sorts for them, and some abandoned, rusting cars. There wasn't much to go back to, and Sam and Cas hadn't said anything, so Dean tried to not think about it further. Maybe it was best he didn't see what had happened to Bobby's place without the context surrounding the event. Probably best to leave that one untouched.

Twenty miles outside the city, the donut was gone and AC/DC was blaring from the speakers, though not at a volume that Sam wouldn't appreciate. It helped fill the silence in the car as they watched the miles pass by.

All things considered, it had been a good few days, and Dean was keen on keeping it that way, at least until the new year rolled around.

Of course, even with his missing memories, he should have known that good things never lasted.


	29. Chapter 29

_Happy Monday! Meant to get this up yesterday but I had to rework a scene, so now it's a longer chapter, yay! While the holiday stuff was fun, it's back to business for now, and yes, this chapter does eventually lead up to some more ideas and plans, so stay tuned ;) Heads up, if the next update is a week late, it's because I have senior activities and graduation this week, so I'll be much busier than usual, and I apologize in advance. Massive thank yous as always to BaldiDaughterChevy, VegasGranny, bagelcat1, Celtic Knot, TXKimsonFan, and ThornsHaveRoses for your reviews! As you know they mean the world to me, and reviews are always a wonderful present in my inbox, especially on a Monday. Hope you all enjoy the angst-fest that's coming up!_

 _While I've been rewatching season 13, I still don't own the show as a whole, I just mess with the characters on a weekly basis._

* * *

 _Dean woke up slowly, only vaguely registering that it wasn't yet light outside. The clock on the bedside table said that it was just past two in the morning, and Dean had to wonder why he was up in the first place. A quick check showed that the holy water and shotgun were still under the bed, the other side of which was cold. That wasn't odd precisely, sometimes Lisa fell asleep downstairs while watching one of her television shows. Sometimes Dean tried to fall asleep down there when the nightmares got too bad. Normally they were together, but this wasn't any cause for concern._

 _The house was safe. He_ _'d put up all the wards he could think of, and salted the perimeter each night, and had done so for the past few months. Lisa was downstairs, Ben was in his room, and Dean needed to get his head to shut up. Ben had baseball practice in the morning, and Dean had promised to take him. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he showed up more sleep-deprived than usual._

 _Dean rolled over, still pretty much half asleep, and sighed, his bleary gaze focused on the cracked open door._

 _Cracked open_ _…_

 _That had Dean immediately pausing to open his eyes further. Whenever Lisa slept downstairs, he always left the door completely open, always. They didn_ _'t just mostly shut by themselves, and he'd gotten into a routine enough to where he never almost shut it. Never._

 _He slowly got up out of the bed, bare feet sticking ever so slightly to the floor of the bedroom as he reached over to grab his handgun from the nightstand, which would probably be more effective in any given encounter he was about to face. Dean picked up the flashlight next to it and held it in his other hand, ready to turn it on at a moment_ _'s notice, but not unless he had to, for fear of waking Ben up for no reason. He crept out of bed, the floorboards not even creaking as he made his way towards the door and nudged it open._

 _A quick glance down both sides of the hallway showed nothing out of the ordinary, just a dark, safe, quiet house and the paranoid hunter that had just started calling it a home. He took a few slow steps into the hallway towards Ben_ _'s room, gun and flashlight on opposite sides of his body. That's all he was, paranoid. Every little creak reminded him of a monster coming to get him, and every shift in the windows made him imagine a hand dragging itself along the glass panes, wanting to be let in._

 _He silently nudged open Ben_ _'s door when he got to it, and after a few seconds of observing the sleeping kid's form, he nodded to himself and drew the door back so it was almost closed, not wanting to disturb him._

 _The stairs squeaked ever so slightly as he descended, still on alert, but beginning to realize that he was just playing games with himself. They were safe here, all of them. Lisa and Ben were safe because he was there, and he was more or less safe because he had them._

 _When he got down to the bottom, the changing glow of colors on the television screen bounced off the far wall, confirming Dean_ _'s suspicion that Lisa had fallen asleep while watching a show. It was so ordinary, so normal, so mundane, and he chided himself for having thought differently._

 _He left the flashlight on the kitchen counter, since the television gave him more than enough light to see by, and made his way into the next room to carry Lisa to bed. Maybe she_ _'d sleepily protest, or stay fast asleep, or mutter about him being a strong hero, Dean had gotten all different reactions before, and he smiled a bit at trying to imagine which one he'd get this time._

 _Dean rounded the corner of the couch, about to bend down to scoop her up, when his foot came into contact with something slippery that coated the floor. Surely, she_ _'d just spilled a drink, maybe when she fell asleep._

 _But in his chest, he knew that wasn_ _'t it, and his heart began pounding._

 _He slowly looked down, and in the mostly blue emanating light, the liquid on the floor looked almost black. Dean immediately backed up, knocking his hip against the table as he did so, but he didn_ _'t even feel it. He scrambled for the light switch, and when the room finally got too bright, his mouth opened in horror._

 _Lisa was on the couch, eyes open and transfixed on the television, her mouth open in a silent scream. Blood from a gash across her throat had coated her blue sleep shirt and was lazily dripping under the couch._

 _"_ _No, no, no, no, no," Dean whispered under his breath. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be, they were safe. And even though he knew a person couldn't survive with that much blood outside their body rather than in, he still walked back over with shaky steps and knelt down next to the couch, blood soaking into his sweatpants._

 _"_ _Lis-" he started, begging for some sort of life, a breath, a twitch, anything, something. His hand, extremely carefully, came to rest on her cheek, which was cold beneath his fingers. There was no ounce of warmth to be had, which meant she had been dead a while, in the same house as him, and he had taken no notice._

 _His view of the horrific scene in front of him clouded as tears crossed his vision and he rubbed a thumb softly over her cheek._ _"Come on," he pleaded, as if she could hear him. But her brown eyes didn't close, she didn't smile into his touch, and she didn't wrap her arms around his neck so he could pick her up easier. She didn't move or breathe or laugh or question why he was suddenly crying. She didn't do any of it because she was dead, and had been for a while, and Dean hadn't done anything about it._

 _Dean wasn_ _'t sure how long he sat like that, staring at her, but eventually he wiped a hand across his eyes and stood up, gun in hand, and ran back towards the stairs. His feet left bloody marks as he ran up, taking them two at a time, before he reached Ben's room and turned on the light before he did anything else._

 _"_ _Ben," he said desperately, and waited for Ben to question why the hell he had thrown on the lights at two in the freaking morning. Gradually, his gun came to rest by his thigh, shaking as tremors worked their way down to his hands._

 _Dean spotted the red that had soaked through the white bedsheets, which had been hidden in the darkness before, and he was out in the hallway at the next second. He couldn_ _'t bring himself to go inside any further to see what he knew awaited him._

 _His knees gave out in the next moment, and deposited him on the floor, leaning up against the wall outside the room where his family had been killed and he hadn_ _'t known about it._

 _The gun clattered to the floor, shattering the silence that was slowly being filled up with his own desperate gasps for air. This couldn_ _'t be real, it couldn't be happening. He brought a hand up to run it through his hair, down his face, anything that could serve to wake him up, but stopped when he noticed the blood on it. Lisa's blood. He'd never be able to get it clean. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, it shouldn't have-_

 _"_ _You're right, Dean."_

 _Lisa_ _'s voice came suddenly, breaking up his harsh breathing. His head immediately turned upwards, finding her standing there in her bloodied shirt, but a grotesque wound missing from her neck._

 _"_ _None of this should have happened. But you came back, and you dragged us into this mess with you." Her tone was accusatory and angry, but Dean still found himself not able to look away._

 _"_ _You had an angel wipe our minds and you left, Dean, you left both of us because you thought it would be safer. Does this look safer?" she gestured to her clothing, and Dean visibly winced._

 _"_ _Maybe you could have done something if you were here. Or maybe we would have died anyways because you went soft while taking a break from saving lives. You don't get a break with this life, Dean, and you know it, and now a child has paid the price."_

 _"_ _Stop," Dean bit out through gritted teeth. "Whatever this is, stop, please."_

 _"_ _A demon waltzed in here and slit out throats. It's over, and you didn't notice. Not much to stop." Lisa tilted her head, as if it should have been obvious._

 _"_ _Salt and and and the…sigils…the protections…they can't get in here," Dean tried to reason, another tear cascading down his cheek. This couldn't be real._

 _"_ _Oh, but it is, Dean. You stop hunting and people die, it's as simple as that," she answered his unspoken question. "You didn't protect us, and this, this is the outcome. You can save the world but not your own family? What kind of sense does that make?"_

 _And that was the point, it didn_ _'t make any sense. None of it did. But she was there, in front of him, staring him down with her dead kid in the next room and…Dean couldn't take it._

 _"_ _I'm sorry," he whispered in a broken tone. It bounced off the hallway and rang in his ears as he wiped at his eyes again and shook his head. "Lisa…this wasn't meant to happen, I'm so sorry."_

 _"_ _Yeah, a lot of good that does us." It was cold and unfeeling and shut him out completely. And then, she was just…gone, a small pool of blood left where she had been standing._

 _Dean was left alone, head in his hands, in the place that should have been a home, but without the people in it, was nothing more than an empty, heartless structure._

* * *

Dean was unsurprised to find that when he actually came around, the pillow beneath his face was wet. The clock read three in the morning instead of two, but that didn't do anything to ease the feeling of waking again. He turned on the light the second he made it to the bathroom, not even wincing at the sudden brightness.

It wasn't real, none of it was real. Lisa and Ben were alive and safe, Sam had told him so. It was just the exhaustion of the last few days finally settling in and messing with his head. He had overdone it, that was all, that was all.

He kept repeating it to himself as he washed his face off with water, and his hands for good measure, though there was no blood present to stain the sink pink. When he toweled off his face and looked in the mirror, for a split second he could have sworn he saw Lisa behind him, watching him, wondering why he hadn't done more.

He washed his face again, and then she was gone.

Dean's steps back into his room were shaky at best, and he knew within a minute that he couldn't stay there. The nightmare and the brutal, vivid reality of it hung in the air like a physical darkness he couldn't escape, and there was no way in hell he was getting back to sleep.

 _You stop hunting and people die, it's as simple as that._

It rang over and over and over in his ears in a tone that Dean knew Lisa had never used, but that didn't help anything. He ran a hand over his face and tried to think of where he could go. Cas was always up, either in the library or in his room, so those spots were out. The garage was too far and there was a chance of running into Cas in the halls.

It took a minute, but eventually he got an idea in mind, and silently left the room. Out in the hallway, he looked left and saw Lisa watching him, and right, and watched Ben disappear around a corner.

He checked Sam's room, and even took a step inside to make sure his little brother was actually breathing and that the sheets were still white before he left. His family was still alive, they were fine, and with that, he left and headed down another long hallway towards the more secluded area of the bunker, where no one would be able to hear him.

* * *

Sam had a seventh sense beyond his previous psychic abilities, and that was the ability to feel when someone had their eyes on him. It came in handy when hunting, and more often than not, made him uneasy when he was eating a bowl of cereal when no one else was present. There were definite pros and cons to having been looking over his shoulder all his life. Sam couldn't decide if it was a pro or con that he had slightly woken up when he felt eyes on him. He was on his side facing the door, arm beneath his head and pillow. Through barely cracked open eyes, he noticed Dean's silhouette standing in the doorway. He even took a step forward and then paused before he headed out and shut the door a little bit more behind him.

Sam glanced towards the clock, which was just barely past three in the morning. What the hell Dean was doing up checking on him that early in the morning, Sam had no idea, but he could guess it wasn't good.

Was there any way it could wait until morning?

Sam shifted and tried to close his eyes to go back to sleep. A few minutes later, however, he noticed almost silent, muffled pangs at regular intervals that echoed down the bunker's long cement hallways. Sam was all too familiar with the sound, and it meant that indeed whatever reason Dean had been checking up on him wasn't a good one.

But Sam also knew from experience that when Dean got like this, he needed space to think things through. Sam wasn't about to intrude on that space, but after twenty minutes and continued slowing pangs, Sam rubbed a hand over his face and swung his legs out of bed. They would both definitely be tired come actual morning, but it wasn't like they had any plans.

He didn't run into Cas in the hallways, so the angel was probably in the library or in his own room, and Sam continued down to the lower levels of the bunker where the especially old archives were stored.

He stopped at the door that lead to the shooting range, affirming his memory of what shots sounded like when they echoed through the bunker. Sam waited for the shots to pass, and a few seconds of silence, which meant Dean had taken a break or was reloading, until he slowly opened the door.

Dean was standing in the shooting area closest to the far end of the wall, clad in sweatpants and a black sleeping t-shirt. It looked normal, and Sam didn't notice anything immediately amiss until he took a few steps closer and noticed the red around Dean's eyes. It stood out from his pale face and as he looked down, his brother's hands were shaking almost imperceptibly as he paused at loading the next magazine.

When he finally turned and lifted his eyes to Sam, placing the gun on the counter in front of him, Sam could tell his brother wasn't getting any more sleep during the night.

"Bit early for a run, isn't it?" Dean asked, his tone of voice betraying the fact that he was trying too hard to have a normal conversation.

"Could say the same to you and your target practice," Sam replied, continuing with the fake amount of normality as he made his way over.

"Shots didn't wake you up, did they?"

Sam shook his head. "Got up to get some water, noticed your door was more open than usual, figured I'd find out where you wandered off to," he explained easily. Because of course he hadn't woken up to the fact that Dean had been checking on him at three in the morning, and judging by his state, was probably due to the fact that something in his head hadn't been letting him sleep.

Dean seemed to take that as an answer, but Sam couldn't pinpoint if he believed it or not. Probably not. "Go on back to bed, Sam, I'm finishing up," he tried to brush off.

But with Dean looking the way he did, Sam wasn't about to let him do so. "I'm up anyways," he said with a nonchalant shrug before he leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest. He regarded Dean with a slight tilt of his head, the ' _you gonna drop the charade?'_ unsaid but understood by both of them.

Dean held his gaze for a moment longer before he dropped it, clipped another magazine in, and fired it off. The sound was fairly deafening, but nothing Sam wasn't used to, and he again waited until the clip was empty before he tried anything. Looking at the paper target, Dean's usually expert marksmanship was off by a few centimeters here or there, which shouldn't have been a big deal, but to an experienced shooter like Dean, it said a lot about his shaking hands.

"Dean," he started in a low tone.

Dean just unclipped the magazine and fiddled around with a few bullets. "Nothing to talk about, Sam," came Dean's gruff reply.

"Nothing to…? Dean, your face is a dead give away, let alone your shooting escapades before the sun's even up," Sam said back.

Dean looked up, face hardening ever so slightly. "So I shoot instead of read lore books when I can't sleep, sue me, not everyone's an expert in quiet activities." He hadn't yet started reloading the gun.

"Any reason you want to clear up?" Sam eventually prompted, and the question hung in the air around them. Again, the weight of the situation sat like a bullet on the counter that Dean hadn't yet put into the gun, waiting to be fired at Sam along with more painful memories for him to go through in explaining the situation.

Dean took his time in replying, and when he did, it wasn't in a way Sam appreciated. "Yeah, sometimes my head doesn't shut up, and it makes it hard to go to sleep. Things everyday people deal with, no need to make a big thing out of it."

"Dean, it's obviously more than a normal, everyday thing and that's alright it's-"

"Drop it, Sam." It came with a note of warning and Dean shook his head.

"We've been over this, it's better to not keep these kinds of things to yourself," Sam tried because they had been over it many, many times, and he had hoped that they were making headway, but Dean kept shaking his head.

"It's the same old thing, alright? Nothing new to see here, no new horror flics playing on the unseen memory reel, it's fine." Dean checked to make sure the gun was in fact unloaded before he pulled out the magazine and refilled it with a bit more force than was necessary, but didn't put it back into the gun. Instead, he set both on the counter in front of him and stared at the target down the long cement hall.

"It doesn't have to be something new, if something's bugging you and I can help you get it off your chest, or if Cas would help," Sam said and eyed him carefully.

"You can't, alright?" Dean looked back at him, eyes a twinge less red but no less haunted. "It's a nightmare, everyone gets 'em, they're not real, no use in beating a dead horse to find some meaning in them. It happened, I woke up, I shot some targets, I'm fine," he made a hand motion as if physically moving the nightmare out of the air and away from himself.

Sam, of course, could see right through it, and Dean probably knew it, but he was still rebuilding the wall around himself, for what purpose Sam had no idea.

"Maybe I can and neither of us will know unless you clue me in," he tried again, but Dean was still shaking his head.

"I'm not putting this on you, Sam, there's no point to it. It's not serious, it's fine, end of story." He picked up the gun and magazine separately and began walking towards Sam, who got out from the counter by a step, blocking Dean's approach in the slightest. Just when he had thought they were making some headway…"If it gets bad I'll come to your room with kleenex and chocolate, alright? But some stuff belongs here and nowhere else," he tapped his head, having stopped walking as he kept looking at Sam.

Dean's tone of voice had changed, he wasn't about to talk this through any more, and if Sam kept pressing, he was likely to have Dean deny it further and be less willing to talk it through in the future. He clenched his jaw, but took a step back and Dean continued out of the range. Sam expected him to go all the way to the door and disappear down the hall, but he paused as he was going up the few steps.

His fingers drummed against the gun once, and without turning around, he asked in a very different tone, "Lisa and Ben, you're sure they're alright?"

Sam nodded even though his brother couldn't see him. "Checked in remotely as soon as you got back to the bunker. They're in the same place, come and go, it's all normal."

Dean seemed to take a second to process that before he continued up the stairs and into the hall, his footsteps not making a sound as they did so.

Sam let out the breath he had subconsciously been holding in waiting for his brother's answer. If it was this bad and Dean was reverting back to his normal tactics, it wouldn't do anyone any good. Maybe come morning his ideas would change? Probably not.

But he was asking about Lisa and Ben, and given the look in his eyes, Sam knew it was a very high level of bad his brother was shouldering alone. The only thing Sam could remotely hope for was that it didn't get any worse.


	30. Chapter 30

_Happy weekend, we're back! Some important plot points in this chapter, and the train's leaving the station, hope you're all staying aboard! Thanks to everyone for reading, and to ThornsHaveRoses, BaldiDaughterChevy, and VegasGranny for your reviews. Comments are always, always appreciated!_

 _On a side note, I would've spent more time writing, but I've gotten sucked into Peaky Blinders after some people mentioned Dean's season 14 outfit could fit in that show. I have to say, I agree, and damn it, I'm hooked into a summer binge watch ;)_

 _Still don't own the show._

* * *

Dean should have expected Sam to come find him, but the thought hadn't been on his mind about how to deal with his little brother if (when) he decided to show up. He didn't want to talk it through, and although it probably would have been helpful, he couldn't, not when it was still so fresh in his mind. He had been shooting, as if every bullet coming out of the gun was killing another monster he hadn't stopped while he'd been benched. In some strange world, it was therapeutic, and in another one, it was maddening.

He wasn't surprised to find himself reverting back to his old habits, keeping his nightmares under lock and key for both his and Sam's sakes. If it got bad, he'd tell Sam, he knew better, but for the time being that particular dream was his and his alone.

Dean stopped into his room to deposit the weapon, grab his laptop, and nothing more. It was almost four by the time he made his way into the library with his computer in hand, finding Cas sitting at one of the tables as he had suspected. The angel was combing through one of the many lore books and only turned his head up when Dean climbed up the few stairs into the library itself.

"Dean," Cas greeted, but it quickly turned into a puzzled question. "I thought I heard voices, you and Sam, it's very early, is everything alright?"

Dean waved it off, which his friend apparently didn't appreciate. "Nothing we haven't dealt with before, Cas." When that didn't seem to do the trick, he added, "I promised Sam if it gets bad we'll have a kleenex moment over it, but it's all good."

He sat at the same table across from Cas and put his laptop down on it, not yet opening it.

"So good that you are unable to sleep? From my knowledge, that does not fit the general definition of good."

"Cas-"

"I could," Cas motioned in the air with two fingers pressed together, a gesture Dean recognized well as being one that an angel used to knock some poor sap (more often than not, he and Sam) unconscious. While it was appealing for about a split second, he shook his head. Being able to wake up from a nightmare was one thing, if Cas knocked him out, he didn't want to get stuck in one and have it repeat and not let him go.

"Save your mojo, Cas, seriously, I'm fine."

Cas was still looking at him though, not buying it by the unimpressed look on his face.

"Hey, I uh, never asked, how'd things go with Claire?" he brought up for a change in subject. It was true, they'd never talked it through after the drive, but things seemed to have gone well.

Cas looked at him for a moment longer but eventually the angel nodded. "I believe things are going well, or, as well as can be expected for the relationship between a teenage girl and a celestial being inhabiting her father."

"Well when you put it like that," Dean muttered.

"Things are going in, as you say, in the right direction," Cas restated. There was a on expression on his face that Dean wasn't used to seeing. If he had to put a name to it, it would be something along the lines of fondness or content. "She got me a tie for Christmas, which I believe to be a good sign."

So that was what had been in the box. Dean smiled a bit and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like as good a sign as any," he said. "It's good things have started working out. Happy to hear it." And he meant it. He wasn't sure how much work had gone into getting their relationship to this point, but he imagined it must have taken a few serious events and more talking on the side at least.

"As am I," Cas replied, his face not losing the fond look. Their little conversation faded back into silence and Cas eventually turned back to the book, which allowed Dean to open up the laptop. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but after some random web searching, he found himself on one of the local news websites for a town nearby.

And of course, the article with the weird headline and picture of a house that had been burned to ash caught his attention. He clicked on the article without a second thought and read it through once, then twice. That was all it took for him to decide that it was one of their things. And it was close by…maybe, maybe it could work.

Dean checked the time again, just past five, and Cas hadn't moved save for flipping a few pages. Sam hadn't made a reappearance since their talk earlier either. Dean figured it was as good a time as any to get some background on what could become a case, or at least one they could send to another hunter with all the information intact for easy access.

Before long, he found himself reading various reports on multiple arson cases, a woman's burned remains, and some cops that had all received their share of third degree burns from seemingly mundane tasks. Not all of them had survived either. It wasn't hard to line up the dots, even after what felt like a long time for Dean, it had felt like months after all, and pretty soon he had all the information they'd need. It would probably be easier to convince Sam and Cas with all this in his back pocket anyways.

He checked the time again on the laptop, finding it to be almost seven. He then minimized all the windows and shut the computer before he got up and began making his way into the kitchen, intent on getting himself a cup of coffee.

Sam was already inside, which wouldn't be awkward at all, sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal. He stopped Dean from moving over to the coffee maker before he got any closer. "Ran out right before we left for Jody and Donna's, didn't have time to pick up more," he explained shortly, which made Dean grumble in response.

No sleep, no coffee, and some convincing to do later? Oh yeah, that would go great. "I'll go on a quick run. You want any fancy muffins or anything?" Dean offered as an olive branch, but Sam just shook his head.

"You sure you're fine to drive?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, I've driven further on less sleep, let it go."

Sam let out a sigh and jerked his hand back towards the counter. Apparently a few foodstuff necessities were more important than getting into another argument with his brother. "Got a list of stuff to pick up for whenever we went." Dean grabbed it, scanned it over once, and checked their stores for whatever else they may need.

He nodded to himself and tapped the piece of paper on the table. "I'll be back." Sam didn't give much of a reply, and Dean found himself on his way back to his room to change. Yeah, this wasn't going to be strange at all. Hopefully sooner or later Sam would get where Dean was coming from. He stopped that train of thought before it could get much further and tried to think of something decent he could try to cook up.

Cas refused his offer for fancy muffins as well, but not before asking what a 'fancy' muffin would entail, and then Dean was off. They'd driven past the store numerous times on their way to and from the bunker, so he was perfectly capable of getting there by himself, and was just a bit happy that Sam hadn't put up more of an argument to his doing so. Finding the stuff in the store in a timely fashion would probably take longer than usual, but hey, you had to start somewhere.

Shopping wasn't exactly awful, per say, it just took freaking forever. He picked up stuff for burgers and then had to go down literally every single aisle looking for other things. It was almost like the store was set up that way. Dean made what he thought was efficient work of the trip, and after all, it was nice to have some space to clear his head by himself for just a bit.

He declined the cashier's numerous offers to sign up for a membership card (he was pretty sure he and Sam didn't have one, nor did they probably want them) and just over an hour later he was stuffing grocery bags into the Impala's trunk on top of the fake floor above the guns, knives, and monster killing devices. He was just an average joe grabbing groceries in his awesome car, nothing to see here.

The drive back to the bunker took a solid ten minutes, and he wasn't rushing anything. Hell, Dean even turned on the radio. They'd listened to a ton of tapes on the way to and from Sioux Falls, and he fiddled with the nobs for a moment before he found an actual news station. For ten minutes, he could not listen to rock music. Maybe he'd even learn a neat fact he could quiz Sam on later. Or maybe there would be a report on what he'd been reading about on the computer…

The station he settled on was in the middle of a story, and as Dean slowed the Impala to a stop at the red light, he turned the volume up.

"-coming up from the water, which again, has been the reason why this endeavor has taken almost a month to come to fruition. With sea temperatures only being around forty-five degrees Fahrenheit in December off the coast of New York, the Coast Guard has had a hard time getting teams to survey the area for the wreckage, which we can confirm, has been found and some pieces are being lifted up as of this morning."

Dean's focus on the road ahead of him blurred. Surely it was just some cruel twist of fate that this one station was running that specific story, right? He hurriedly changed it over to another news station, hopefully one that would be blabbing about some celebrity nonsense.

"The flight 523 crash, the largest in recent memory, it having its story draw to a close. The legacy it leaves behind is sure to-"

"The horrific event that captured the nation as households waited to hear for news of survivors from numerous countries-"

"-has been attributed to bad weather on that fateful November night."

It was everywhere. Each local news station Dean had gotten familiar with was running the same story as the wreckage of the plane, _his plane,_ was being surveyed for the first time since it had gone down. No doubt it was a big story, but he didn't know if he wanted to be hearing it.

Dean didn't know if it was curiosity or an inability to move aside from his fingers gripping the steering wheel and his feet working the pedals that kept him from changing the station.

"The flight, which made headlines after crashing off the coast of New York just half an hour into its journey while carrying four hundred and two passengers, is across the news again. In the latest reports, there were two hundred and twenty-seven survivors, some of which are still receiving emergency care, one hundred and thirty-nine victims, and still thirty-six passengers that have remained unaccounted for. Efforts are being made with teams and cameras to secure the wreckage, and we'll keep you updated as this is a developing story."

The station then launched into its section of ads, which was when Dean realized that he had, in fact, driven back to the bunker and parked the car in the garage while listening. He slowly turned down the volume and shut off the Impala, but didn't make a move as to getting out. Not yet.

How many had they said? A hundred and thirty-nine people dead? And it was by some slim margin that Dean himself hadn't been one of them. Why? It all came around again to the great big why and what he was going to do with it. So far, it hadn't been much.

Lisa's fake, vicious words came back into his head for the tenth time that day, joined up with the tallies of the survivors, the dead, and the missing. Dean had survived. Screw the fact that he wasn't back to 110% just yet, he needed to do something with the fact that he was alive after the whole ordeal. He was fine to do research, drive a car, grab groceries, and all of that. Taking down a ghost, or hell even being backup if needed, he could do that. Making sure other people stayed alive was definitely something he could swing, he just had to get Sam and Cas on board.

He took another moment to himself to process, as if that would really help, before he got out and grabbed all the bags to take down with him to the kitchen. Apparently his processing skills were quite evident on his face because as soon as he walked in, both Cas and Sam looked at him, their expressions morphing from light amusement in whatever they'd been talking about to apparent worry.

"How…how'd shopping go?" Sam asked, almost carefully as Dean set the bags down on the counter and started to go through them. Things were always easier to go over when he had something to do with his hands, and putting away groceries was a perfect mindless task to do so with.

"Almost got run over by like five old ladies in the cereal section, they didn't put on their blinkers," Dean replied with a deadpan sense of humor that was lacking in most of the humor.

"Shopping carts don't have…" Cas cut himself off, puzzled. "Dean, what happened?"

Dean paused for a second and sighed, taking an extreme amount of interest in a package of mixed greens he'd picked up for Sam and Sam only before he went to put them away. "They found the wreckage," he said quite simply. There was no use for Cas or Sam to ask what he was talking about, it was all understood without further explanation and it was silent until Dean spoke again. "It's all over the stations, weather or something stopped them from getting to it this long. Over a hundred and fifty people are dead or missing, but they said they'd keep people posted." The last sentence was annunciated more harshly and the fridge door was closed just hard enough to make a few of the contents rattle.

"Dean, that's not-there's nothing you could've done," Sam tried, his eyebrows coming together a bit as he broke the silence.

"I know that, not saying there was anything I could've," Dean replied, not looking up from the items in his grasp before he put them away.

"Then…it sucks and it's awful…" Sam started, seemingly trying to find the right way to phrase it. "Why, aside from the obvious, has it got you wound so tight?" There was nothing in his voice but genuine desire to find the problem, squash it, and help Dean move on. There was no judging for Dean worrying over the deaths of many people he had been on the same plane with. Sam got it, as much as he was able to, Dean could tell, but he didn't want his older brother worrying about a past event when he didn't have to, especially one that had changed all of their lives so, so much. He just wanted to understand, he didn't have to put it into words for Dean to get, and judging by Cas' expression, the angel was thinking much of the same thing.

"I survived," Dean pointed to himself and looked at both of them, "haven't done much with it, have I?"

Cas tilted his head and gave Dean a questioning look. "Dean, you were in a coma and diagnosed with a serious neurological condition that you are lucky to have survived. Living past it all is 'doing much' in many people's books," he said, not seeing the point Dean was trying to make.

Sam on the other hand, which Dean had suspected, saw through it to the meaning beneath his brother's words. "In terms of surviving or…in terms of hunting?" Dean's lack of an answer gave Sam the one he needed and he shook his head. "Dean, we can't keep coming around to this, you know how Cas and I stand on it, this isn't up for a debate, even the doctors agree."

"What, so I'm supposed to do nothing with the rest of my life that I get to live because I was lucky and got rescued in time?"

"Dean, that's not-it's not a permanent thing, you know that."

"Do we? What if this," Dean pointed to his head, "never gets any better? I'm supposed to sideline the two of us forever because I can't help save lives without risking my own? The job's the same, risking our lives to save others, that hasn't changed."

"The circumstances, and the risks that go along with them, are greater," Cas brought up, which Sam nodded in agreement with.

"So? I've got another shot here to help save people, the one thing I'm good at, and the only thing I've been doing is watching Netflix and working on the car. It ain't exactly a fulfilling second shot."

"And the amnesia? The headaches, the memories, the nightmares?" Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. "If you were to go on a hunt, if, you'd already be going in knowing you weren't a hundred percent, and you know how dangerous that could be, Dean, for everyone."

Dean opened his mouth to argue back, but Sam held his hand up. "This, lying low, working through things, getting better, yeah it takes time and it's boring and it sucks, but it keeps us safe. And when you're ready to go back in, you're ready to go all the way back in and do the job right."

"There's people out there that need help that aren't getting it because my head isn't totally screwed on right. It's not fair to them."

"You're right, it's not, but people die every day, Dean, we can't save everyone, no matter how hard we try. Cas and I, we look up cases and send them around, whatever ones come our way, we try to get them dealt with. We do what we can. With everything we've done, the world will keep spinning if we take a month or two to catch our breaths for the first time in over a decade."

"All the cases?"

"All the…?" Sam looked at him, confused.

"Do you guys catch all the cases floating around?"

"The majority of them we try to, but it's impossible to catch every single article," Cas chimed in.

"So I'm guessing you saw the one then about the people spontaneously getting set on fire by mundane, supposedly harmless accidents, right? The one that's happening half an hour from us at this very moment?"

"Dean-"

"It's a milk run, Sam, it's all in the article. Literally everything. It's a ghost, tied to something, killing the people that made it a ghost in the first place."

"Milk runs, as you and Sam define them, historically have a tendency to not be as easy as you hope," Cas brought up, and Dean shot him a glare.

"Half an hour, Sam. We find what it's tied to, burn it, done, lives saved and we're home in time to watch the game." Dean continued, not phased by the angel's decent point. So even in later years, 'milk runs' hadn't gotten any easier, good to know. They really needed another term for that.

"We'll put someone else on it," Sam said, still not about to budge.

"No one's as close to us, and you know it. Some of these soon to be victims, from what I can tell at least, Sam, some of them have families. Kids. And this spirit's a nasty one, it's not waiting on a hunter from another state to show up before it stops its spree for vengeance. Hell, we don't even need fed suits and interviews, everything's in the articles, cut and dry."

Sam visibly clenched his jaw, not happy with where this was headed. Both sides made sense, it just depended which side they were standing on. But someone needed to take care of the spirit, that was something all parties agreed on. "Fine, Cas and I will go check it out," he shot back, figuring that maybe that would be enough, but Dean shook his head. "No, no, you aren't coming."

"Sam, come on. No field work, huh? Research, that's it, let me at least think I'm helping? Make sure you guys get the right house and remember the salt and all that. On the off chance anything happens, I need to be close by," Dean pitched with a tilt of his head.

Sam didn't say anything for a minute, and when he did, it was quiet and almost pleading. "Right, and you're going to stay in the car while Cas and I dispatch this thing?"

Dean took a second to reply. "Fine, if that's what gets us moving, then fine. Sideline me from the physical stuff, but we need to get a move on," he tapped the kitchen counter, ready to go before either one of them changed their minds about him coming along in the first place.

Sam, however, stepped in front of him before he could move any further and put a hand up. "I'm serious here, man, no barging in to save the day, you know the risks. I'm sick of hospitals." It wasn't said lightly, and based on Sam's gaze, it wasn't meant to be taken lightly either.

 _I'm sick of hospitals and watching you almost die,_ of course, was understood by both parties involved.

"I've had more hunting experience than you remember, Dean, Sam and I can handle it, I would advise you to listen to him and take his request seriously." So Cas wasn't messing around either then. The unspoken thing went for both of them.

"Research, hang back, got it. Get your feet wet first before you cannonball, right?" While Cas didn't seem to totally get the analogy, Sam eventually nodded, though he didn't seem happy about the whole thing.

"Cas, you mind getting the laptops?" he asked, to which the angel acquiesced and exited the kitchen, leaving the brothers alone.

"Sam, I know you don't like this, but more eyes are always better, and it's a matter of time."

"You're right, I don't like this," Sam said seriously, his face bordering on a frown. "And I get it, you want to get back out there and help people, but you're playing wounded, man." He held up a hand as Dean opened his mouth to argue back. "Just…stay in the car, no matter what happens, I mean it, alright? If this thing goes well, maybe we'll head out more, maybe."

The frown had faded from his face, instead replaced with one of slight worry, one that Dean didn't necessarily like seeing, but he had to get back on the horse some time.

"And…whatever happens, if this turns out to be another milk run," Sam actually sighed at the name, "be careful, alright?"

"I will, Sammy," Dean assured, as if he had any control over the matter. After a beat of silence, he too nodded. "We're burning daylight, let's get a move on, I'll fill you in on the way."

* * *

 _So, this chapter. Lots of building up points, hopefully they came to a head alright. I can't tell you how many times I rewrote the ending talk, and in all honesty, I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but I wanted to keep the story moving. If anyone's got any thoughts, compliments, constructive criticism, speculation, etc, it is always appreciated!_


	31. Chapter 31

_Mid-week update, Happy 4th of July to my fellow American readers! The schedule's a bit off because I'll be on vacation this weekend (getting on a plane, let's hope it goes better than Dean's last plane trip), and didn't want to make you all wait another week, so here's a longer chapter to hopefully make up for it. The next update is scheduled for next weekend!_

 _Thanks to everyone for reading, following, favoriting, all of that, it really does make me smile. To ThornsHaveRoses, TXKimsonFan, VegasGranny, DearHart, BaldiDaughterChevy, and Celtic Knot, I've said it before and I'll say it again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Reviews are morale and confidence boosters, and I love hearing your thoughts. Let's see how many of you were right about the 'milk run' ;)_

 _Still don't own Supernatural. Still eagerly awaiting season 14_

* * *

They left the bunker twenty minutes later, packing their usual duffels loaded down with iron, salt, and rock-salt loaded shotguns especially. Dean passed off his laptop to Sam as soon as Cas had brought it over, giving Sam a chance to look at the tabs Dean had bookmarked and left open about the case. Still, he verbalized the generalizations he could remember so Cas wouldn't have to read it over too.

"So, killings started four days ago, which also happens to be the day a one James Stevens hung himself in his cell two months into his sentence for murder," Dean summarized as they drove, Cas listening from the back and Sam going over the articles in front. "All the victims have been members of the police force that brought him in or were present at the scene. Some vics survived the attacks, some not, the ones that did are in the hospital for third degree burns."

"From a handheld lighter, for one, a freaking…toaster for another," Sam muttered, shaking his head as he read through some of the more specific things.

"So all items that can cause a burn injury, but are unlikely to do so at such high capacity, and all happening to connected people," Cas nodded along in understanding.

"Right. Basically, Stevens was a guy with some issues and set fire to his house-"

"Allegedly," Sam cut in, still reading.

"Whatever, he got time for it, set fire to his house and his wife died in the blaze. Cops show up, he's got no alibi for where he was, gallons of gas were in the back of his car along with some empty cans, and he claimed to not know what had happened," Dean finished. One of the articles had pictures of the burned out structure, though it was hard to tell it was even once standing with the amount of charred material that had taken the place of the building. Apparently it still hadn't been completely cleaned up, given the fact that it was a crime scene and had been used extensively in the court case that followed.

Sam clicked on another article and read for a moment before he looked back up at the road in front of them. "He had charges before. Drunk and disorderly, fighting, public intoxication, petty arson…but nothing solid to link him to the actual crime that killed his wife."

"It sounds fairly open and shut, as you would say. A common criminal went too far, killed someone he cared about, and felt guilty afterwards," Cas said, not getting the point that Dean knew Sam was going to bring up next.

"Jury and judge thought it was open and shut, got life in prison," Dean added.

"Yeah, but it's all based on circumstantial evidence and past records, from these articles alone there's holes," Sam argued, and Dean raised a hand from the steering wheel to point at his brother. His little brother's lawyer tendencies were still popping up, a decade after he had left Stanford. Good to know.

"Vengeful spirit. Say it wasn't him, he got blamed, nobody listened, violent death, and now he's taking it out on the people that wrongfully put him there."

"Makes sense," Sam nodded back. "The officers that survived and are able to talk all reported strange electrical events if they were inside, and a noticeable temperature drop, both signs of a spirit, but no one actually saw anything."

"No one that survived," Dean added in a muttered tone. In only a few days, the case already had a body count and was gearing to take more.

"So, in theory, after we burn his bones, then the killings and injuries should stop, yes?" Cas inquired.

"Exactly. Thing is, these things happen twice a day, morning and night, same time Stevens died. The deputy this morning was making hard-boiled eggs for her kids at home for them to take to school before she left for work when the stove flared, massive burns everywhere, and there's no sign of something wrong with the gas main," Dean relayed the article that he had found in the first place which had led him down the hellish, fiery rabbit hole.

"What time do these events occur?" Cas asked.

Sam clicked to another article to get the answer. "Around five. So we've got," he checked the time, "about four hours once we get there to find the grave and get the job done."

"Is there any way to tell who the next victim will be?"

Dean wished he had an absolute answer, but he shook his head. "Nine people have gone down so far, which is pretty much the whole force, it's not exactly a big town. It seems to be working its way up the totem pole, so to speak. Sheriff hasn't been hit yet, he's the last big person directly connected with the case, aside from the judge and jury, but they're further removed," Dean pitched as an idea, which Sam seemed to accept with another nod. "I'd say we start with him."

"Yeah, sounds good," Sam replied before he went silent, brows creased as he thought something over. "So we're…splitting up? All three of us can't be babysitting the sheriff and digging up a grave at the same time, but we need to make sure he's protected. The killings happened around five, some a bit before, some slightly after."

Dean was about to open his mouth to say he was fine to go dig up the grave by himself, but one cursory glance from Sam told him that argument probably wouldn't go over well. "Someone's babysitting me, I'm assuming then," he muttered with an eye roll, keeping his gaze on the road. Okay, so he was playing wounded, fine, but he could dig up a freaking grave by himself.

"Cas, why don't you help Dean out with the grave? Two people on it will make the work go quicker, I can handle the sheriff," Sam shut the laptop and shifted to look at Cas in the back seat.

The angel nodded regarding the plan. There was no sense to have Dean actually in the car when they needed to be in a few places at once.

"See? Going in researched, prepared, and with a plan, nothing to worry about," Dean waved off, and caught Sam's bitch-face at him from the corner of his eye. So that hadn't changed much either, Dean figured he must have been on the receiving end of quite a few over the years, and the thought made him smirk.

They pulled off to a diner as they entered town, since going a whole day without eating before a hunt wouldn't help anything, and were back out in under an hour. Going off of maps and the articles' descriptions, they managed to find all the places they'd need to hit. The burned house had been mostly cleaned up when they drove by, caution tape and a few charred support beams being the only things that really remained of the house. The police station was easy enough to find, as was the graveyard, being the only ones of each in town.

Dean pulled around to the police station and parked while Sam grabbed an FBI license out of the glove compartment. Hopefully given everything that had been going on, the missing suit wouldn't be a cause for concern and he could play it off as it having been an off-duty emergency while he was in the area. Dean agreed that it should work.

"Phone charged?" Dean checked as Sam readied himself to get out of the car and grab his duffel from the back.

"Yeah. You call when the body's burned or if anything happens," Sam reminded, his eyes moving between his brother and Cas. Both men nodded at that.

"The same goes for you, Sam, it is likely the spirit will come for one of us given our courses of action," Cas added to it.

Of course, Sam understood, but he nodded along anyways. "Be careful," was what he finally said in a quieter tone, mostly directed at Dean. It wasn't out of the fact that his brother couldn't handle himself, but sometimes things in hunts were out of their control, and today, they really, really needed everything to stay in control as much as possible.

"Cas is with me, we'll be fine. Spook's probably headed your way since you're stopping him from murdering another poor sap," Dean muttered. "No stupid antics, I know, now go, we're wasting time," he waved his hands for Sam to get out of the car. It was probably actually fifty-fifty the ghost came for either of them, but neither commended on the odds.

With a sigh, Sam exited the Impala with his fake badge in his pocket. A moment later, the trunk opened and closed and Dean watched his brother walk up to the mostly empty police station. There probably would have been more cars in the lot if more of the officers had been able to show up to work. Dean watched until Sam was inside before he pulled out of the spot and headed back towards the graveyard.

It was only about a five minute drive to their destination, and once there, Dean tossed Cas a shovel before he picked one up for himself, grabbed a duffel and a rock-salt shotgun and they continued on their way.

"So, you ever dug up a grave before?" Dean asked with an eyebrow raised as they walked through the cemetery. It was strange to be doing it during the day, but they didn't have time to wait for night to fall. Dean kept his head on a swivel, but again, being thankful that it was a small town, the equally small cemetery was desolate in the afternoon while most of the residents were either working or at home.

Cas shook his head and turned the shovel over in his hands as they walked, checking each headstone they passed by and looking specifically for newly moved dirt. "I have accompanied you and Sam on a few hunts, but have never partaken in the physical digging up of a body to be salted and burned or checked for its presence," Cas answered. "I would say I am…eager for the experience, but you and Sam do not seem to be fond of the activity, which is understandable, so that would not be the right phrase."

Dean chuckled lightly and shook his head at that. "Nothing to be eager about when it comes to digging up a body," he said in agreement. "But hey, angel strength, right?" Cas nodded in affirmation at the question. "Then this should go faster, and we'll be back to Sam and the sheriff before the sun sets. Just as soon as we find the place to dig," he added under his breath, still scouring the headstones.

They did eventually find the correct one with _James Stevens 1991-2018_ etched into it. It always sucked extra when the dead person was still fairly young, and this was no different. Hell, Sam had been younger and Dean just a year or so older the first time they bit it. Some people didn't come back.

Luckily, given the grave was newer, it was off to the side by a shallow wall ringed with bushes that gave the graveyard some privacy. For them, it meant that anyone on the street passing by wouldn't just happen to see a grave bonfire in progress while they were out to get groceries.

Dean stuck his shovel into the ground and put his duffel on the ground. He opened it up and got a few things out just in case James decided to rise from the grave and levitate their asses into a bush or something. They were trying their best to avoid that at all costs.

"Do we just…start digging?" Cas inquired, unsure about how to start the actual process.

Dean nodded. "Lots of digging, wide and straight down until we hit what we're looking for." With that, he began digging, putting the dirt into a pile next to the hole that would appear. Cas watched for a few shovelfuls, seeing how it was done before he continued in a similar fashion on his side. Gradually, the hole began to grow bigger and deeper, and though with an angel helping out it went faster, the sun still continued to get lower in the sky behind them.

* * *

When Sam entered the police station, the first thing he was struck by was the complete and utter silence. There was none of the usual chatter or rustling papers that accompanied the typical stations they went into. Whatever reporters had been around had either gone home or to a motel for the evening, Sam guessed, having been briefed about the latest incident while it was still morning.

"Hello?" he called to the seemingly empty building, unsure if the sheriff was actually in or not. Sam stayed by the entrance to the station before he finally heard the echo of boots on the floor. Another moment passed before someone turned the corner and Sam was met with who he assumed to be the sheriff.

He was a middle-aged man with short black hair that was beginning to gray. Dressed in his uniform, he looked ready for duty, but the look on his face said anything but that. He looked beyond tired, bone-weary if Sam had to put a name to it, and his own face softened slightly out of empathy.

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice again conveying the tiredness.

"Was hoping I could help you," Sam replied, and pulled out his badge to flash it before he put it away. "I'm agent Bloom. Heard about what's been going on and got sent down here on short notice."

"No time to suit up, hm?" the sheriff asked, and Sam nodded in reply. "Sheriff Matthews," he introduced with a nod of his own. "I'd introduce you to my deputy, but she's in the hospital, along with half my force that isn't being prepared to be put in the ground. I assume that's what you're here about?"

Sam guessed Matthews had explained the situation so many times over the past few days that he was getting tired of going over everything again and again, which made Sam extremely grateful that they already had most of the information and were working on solving the problem.

"That's it. And my condolences for the losses on your force," Sam added sincerely. The sheriff seemed to take it, but didn't add a comment. "I'm just here trying to figure things out, offer help if it's needed. Do you have any idea what's been going on?"

Matthews shook his head and sighed. He then waved Sam forward to one of the desks and pulled out a set of chairs so they could sit facing each other. "All I know is that my entire force is dead or wounded, and it's happened in record time."

"And the incidents, they're…" Sam trailed off.

"Odd, unheard of, fiery, strange, orderly, take your pick," the sheriff finished for him. "Tim," he gestured towards one of the many empty desks, "was lighting a cigarette outside before he finished his shift, no smoking in here you see. He went outside, never came back in. Coroner said his lighter essentially exploded and burned him alive. There's no…explanation for an incident like that." Matthews had begun to focus on a section of the floor in front of him, eyes glazed over as he retold the story for the hundredth time.

Sam cleared his throat and Matthews' eyes drifted back up to him. "You said orderly as one of your words. Why?"

Matthews shrugged and leaned back in the chair. "It's going up the chain of command, whatever these freak accidents are. Officers, then my deputy, only one that's left is me. When that clock hits five," he pointed to the device near the ceiling on the far wall, "I'm guessing it's my turn, I can follow a pattern, even if it makes no logical sense."

So, he knew what was coming. Sam just couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "The pattern…it started after James Stevens' death, you think there could be a connection?" Sam ventured, and waited for the sheriff's reply, which came in the form of a forced laugh.

"What, like he's a spirit coming after us for putting him in prison?" he asked, to which Sam shrugged. "At this point, agent, I don't know what to think. Afterlife's a probability, right? Seemingly more possible than nine of my team going down because of lighters and stoves. Impossible's about all we've got left." Matthews raised both of his hands and set them down again, looking utterly defeated.

Sam let a beat of silence pass before he looked back up at the sheriff. "Alright, this may sound crazy, but I've got an idea about how we just may stop this thing."

Matthews straightened and looked at Sam, confusion evident on his face, but some determination was there too as his mouth set and he leaned in ever so slightly. Sam then began to explain, in the simplest and least crazy terms he could think of how 'two other interested agents' were with him on the case, and the idea they had agreed upon. The idea, of course, involved salt, iron, and a grave desecration. Surprisingly, the sheriff listened intently to all of it. Sam couldn't pinpoint if that intensity was out of an effort to save his life, or make up for those that had been taken. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The only thing that ended up mattering, however, was that he agreed to the plan and stepped inside when Sam made a salt circle on the floor half an hour to five in the afternoon.

* * *

Even though it was December in Kansas, Dean found that digging up a grave was no less appealing than his last memory of it had been, and the heat of the labor left him in a plaid over-shirt and normal undershirt with his jacket tossed on top of his duffel. He and Cas had been taking turns digging, with the angel thankfully doing the brunt of the work, but Dean had been adamant about getting his hands dirty. Shoveling wasn't a danger to his health, after all, and he kept scooping dirt out with Cas on watch up above for a suspicious passerby or the spirit himself.

Thankfully, the shovel eventually connected with the lid of something hard, which had Cas looking down into the hole.

"Yahtzee!" Dean exclaimed happily, okay, not happily, they were still digging up some poor sap's grave to burn his bones. But hey, it was all in an effort to save other people, and he was glad the work was done. He scraped the rest of the dirt off, lifted off the cover, and took Cas' offered hand to get himself out of the hole.

"Do you find it kinda ironic that we're burning an arsonist?" Dean questioned as he got out the lighter fluid and sprayed a generous amount of the still very human looking corpse. The still freshly buried ones were always the worst, and always would be. The salt came next, and again, it wasn't applied with a light hand. The ghost still hadn't appeared, and as soon as the body was in flames, Dean was going to call Sam to make sure the spook hadn't shown up there either.

Cas was watching the scene unfold carefully, as if taking down the information for further use later on similar cases. "I suppose it is what you would define as ironic, in a tragic sense," Cas eventually agreed as Dean pulled out a set of matches.

In a deft motion, he lit it, and after making sure it had caught, dropped it down into the hole. It immediately flared up and the fire danced along the sides of the ragged hole and the coffin within it.

No matter how morbid it sounded, it was good to be back. This, standing in front of a burning corpse that belonged to a vengeful ghost, was what Dean understood. The whole therapy and relearning everything and doing nothing with his time that had occupied his last month, none of that compared to the job. There was no confusion here, just a job to do, a plan to stick to, and then it was done and lives were being saved in the process.

Dean quickly pulled out his phone, and after seeing it was a quarter until five, called Sam. The attacks usually happened around five, so hopefully they had gotten the spirit in time. Each ring, however, increased his worry and served as a reminder that this part of the job was something he'd never get used to. On the third ring, Sam picked up, and Dean couldn't hide the smile on the face when he did.

* * *

Once Matthews had gotten into the salt circle, it was just a waiting game, Sam knew it. He'd call Dean if the spirit showed up, or he'd wait for a call saying the same thing from Dean or that the salt and burn was done and no spirit would be showing up. He was standing in the center of the room, eyes constantly flicking to the clock, waiting for Dean to call with news of something.

Matthews was quiet in the circle, standing with a rock-salt loaded shotgun just like Sam was carrying. He'd taken the whole thing fairly well, given he was already a believer in the afterlife, and was working through some of what Sam had told him.

When the clock rolled around to almost five, Sam began to worry. The spirit was never on the dot, just around the time that he'd died in the physical world. The ringing in his pocket made Sam jump for a moment, and he re-situated the gun in his hands so he could pick it up.

"Dean? Everything alright?" he asked first and foremost, hoping the spirit hadn't shown up and crashed the salt and burn.

"Yeah, the arsonist became the fire, no sign of him," Dean informed, and Sam let out a sigh of relief. "What about on your end?"

Sam looked around, not that there would be a spirit now with the ghosts burned, and shook his head. "Nothing, it's all quiet and fine over here." But it was definitely strange. In their experience, vengeful spirits went after their objects of revenge or the people around their grave. It was odd for one to not have appeared for either.

"See? Milk run. Cas and I'll come pick you up and we'll go celebrate." Sam could hear the smile in his brother's voice, a sign of a job thankfully done smoothly.

"Sounds good," he replied, and was about to put the phone down before Matthews got his attention.

"Sam? You said flickering lights were a problem?" he asked, and gestured with the shotgun towards the hallway that led down to the holding cells. The lights were indeed flickering, and at a rate that couldn't be explained by an electrical failure.

"Hold on," Sam said quickly, and made his way over to Matthews. As he breathed out, the air in front of him formed white puffs at the sudden change in temperature. It plummeted all around them, a sure sign that something was coming.

"Sam? Hold on? What does hold on mean?" Dean's voice in his ear had lost the light tone and was replaced with one of worry.

"This makes no sense," Sam said under his breath, and faced the opposite direction of Matthews. Down the other hallway he now faced, the lightbulbs began to pop and shatter, coating the floor with pieces of thin glass.

"What was that?" Dean asked, apparently having heard the pops on the other end of the line.

Sam opened his mouth to reply before he felt Matthews tapping him on the shoulder. He slowly turned around and followed Matthew's gaze, where a woman had appeared and was staring them down. Matthews raised his gun at her and Sam dropped the phone into his pocket so he could do the same, Dean still asking hurried questions on the other end of the line.

The woman's eyes were full of fury, directed mostly at the sheriff in front of her. Her face was a grotesque mess of charred and pink flesh, and her clothes were covered in scorch marks. Her hair, which had probably been brown, was singed off in places and at different lengths. It took Sam a moment to place her, and when he did, his blood ran cold.

"You didn't believe it was an accident, you didn't believe him. Now, we're both dead," she said in a low, gravely tone, the fury in her eyes evident behind her words. "You'll burn for that."

Sam aimed his gun to shoot, but before he could get a round off, the woman flicked her hand and sent him careening chest-first into a file cabinet before he landed in a heap on the floor. From his position, he could see her circling Matthews, who had his weapon trained on her but was apparently unable to pull the trigger. For now, she was unable to cross the salt circle, but given her rage, Sam wasn't sure how long that would last.

Dean was still on the phone, shouting. Sam finally got a shot off, and she vanished as the rock salt hit, and Sam grabbed for his phone.

"-am? Sammy?"

"It wasn't James, it's the wife, we got the wrong bones!" he yelled, waiting for her to reappear. His heart was pounding in his chest, which wasn't helping his ribs, which he's probably cracked on impact.

"The wife? She's been cremated, you're sure?"

"I'm sure," Sam answered, no room for doubt in his voice. "Get to the house. Dean, you have to burn it down to a pile, that has to be what she's connected to," he had started, but he wasn't sure how much Dean had actually heard. When he pulled the phone away from his ear, the screen was black. He tried jostling it, which didn't work with the supernatural interference.

A ghost, they could handle until Dean and Cas actually got the job done. He pushed himself to his feet with a wince, phone back in his pocket and gun in his hand.

Matthews had stepped out of his circle to meet him halfway. "The hell did she go?"

"Blasted away, she'll be back. We need to go," Sam directed, as if it wasn't already evident. They started making their way to the doors, which they would have made it through had cabinets not fallen in the way.

A pissed off ghost and a blocked exit they could deal with, Sam reminded himself. They'd been through worse. Only then, on another glance around the station waiting for her to appear, did Sam notice the fire in the hallways. Lightbulbs continued to pop and shatter, and with them rained down a shower of sparks that ignited into a blaze.

Sam looked up just in time to see the light in the ceiling above them start to fizzle, and he grabbed Matthews and dragged him a few steps away from the door before they too could be engulfed. The flames immediately leapt up feet high and as Sam spun in a circle, he quickly realized that the hallways and the door were both blocked with walls of fire and obstructions.

They were trapped, and there was nothing rock-salt guns could do to help them.


	32. Chapter 32

_Welcome back everyone! I've got a bad habit of ending chapters on cliffhangers, I know, but it's where I tend to stop with ideas, and this chapter is no different *sorry*. Hopefully the decisions made in this chapter make sense, and as always, I'd love to hear thoughts about it! Thanks so much to Celtic Knot, ThornsHaveRoses, VegasGranny, DearHart, and BaldiDaughterChevy for sticking through these cliffhangers with me ;) especially happy that people seemed to like Matthews, I don't write many characters outside the universe, so it was encouraging that he was taken well!_

 _Just a simple fan writing stories and waiting for season 14 news from SDCC next week while wishing I owned parts of this show. Oh well._

* * *

Dean had already been thinking of places to go celebrate when he heard Sam drop the phone from his ear and tell him to hold on. 'Holding on' during a hunt was never a good thing, never.

"Sam? Hold on? What does hold on mean?" he tried to clarify, hoping his brother would answer him that no, nothing was wrong, he was just checking on the sheriff or something because he got scared. Cas seemed to sense the worry in his tone and moved a step closer, watching Dean carefully. When the pops sounded over the phone, almost like gunfire, Dean jumped a fraction. "What was that?" he demanded. Not good, not good, not good, whatever it was.

Sam, of course, didn't answer and Dean's worry kept growing. Driving, the graveyard and station were only about five minutes away. So give or take ten on foot (if he ended up having to) if he ran and depending on just how much danger Sam was in. There was just rustling on the other end of the line and a…feminine voice of some sort if he could place it.

"Dean? What's wrong? Is there a problem?" Cas asked, feeding off the worry that was practically rolling off of Dean.

"I have no idea. Sam? You hearing me or is it static?" he waited for a reply, but was met with the sound of something, probably Sam, hitting something hard and groaning. So whatever it was had now hurt his brother, and Dean was too far to provide any immediate help. He was just hoping that the pops he had heard weren't shots and that Sam hadn't been thrown into a wall and was bleeding out. "Sam? Sammy?" Dean tried, his tone increasing his need to hear Sam's voice. If he'd been knocked unconscious or shot with something on the loose and coming for him…

"It wasn't James, it's the wife, we got the wrong bones!" finally came through, loud enough that even Cas could hear it and he looked to Dean worriedly.

But that made no sense. James was supposed to be the spirit, angry that he'd been put in jail. "The wife? She's been cremated, you're sure?" he said hurriedly. So Sam had seen the spirit then, which meant she was there and wreaking havoc, which meant danger. Why couldn't a milk run just be easy for a change?

"I'm sure," Sam said as confidently as he could, which didn't do anything for Dean's state. "Get to the house. Dean, you-" the line cut off abruptly, leaving Dean to shout his brother's name into it. The call had been disconnected, probably by the spirit. Dean dropped it from his ear and tried to not crush it in his grasp. "Son of a bitch!" he cursed, and picked up there stuff and started jogging to the car.

"Dean, he's sure we're actually dealing with Stevens' wife?" Cas asked, following along hurriedly next to Dean.

"That's what he said. From what it sounds like, she's pissed," Dean said tightly, wishing the entrance to the small cemetery was closer.

"But she's been cremated, there are no bones to burn and we do not have time to look for something that would be of value to her."

And there was the problem. Dean slowed down for a split second before he started back up again. The house, the burned house, that must have been what Sam was referring to. "The house. We've gotta go back and finish torching the house, that has to be what she's connected to." It made sense, anyways. Parts of her remains were probably in the house that she and James had shared. It was as good a connection as any.

They finally reached the car and Dean threw their supplies into the trunk and pulled out a shotgun before he slammed it closed.

"And if it isn't?"

Dean didn't want to think about if that wasn't the answer, because then that would mean that they were up the creek without a paddle and Sam was about to drown. "That'll be it," he said and dug the keys out of his pocket, but paused. "We have to split up."

"Dean, we had agreed, no stupid decisions, no breaking off," Cas started, but Dean waved his hand to get him to stop.

"I know, damnit, I know, and Sam's going to have my head, but at least he won't be dead." Reluctantly, he passed the Impala's keys over to Cas. "They're in opposite directions. It'll take too long to run to the house, the station's closer. I'll head there, see if they need help, you burn down the part of the building that's still standing," he directed, but Cas looked uneasy about it all. Dean couldn't blame him.

"Are you sure that's wise?" the angel asked, but did eventually take the offered keys.

Dean shook his head. "None of it's wise, Cas. I go to the house, ghost shows up. I go to the station, ghost shows up. But we need two people in the field to get this all done, I can't be benched for this, not with Sam's life on the line." Maybe when he got there, Sam would have the ghost trapped, or at least dispelled for a time. But given how it had sounded over the phone, Dean knew the chances of that happening were slim.

Still, his brother was there, and he was going to pull him out of whatever mess he was in. Cas could handle burning an already burned house, Dean had to do what he did best: protect his little brother.

"And how would Sam react to you putting your life on the line when we discussed that it should not happen?"

"He'll be pissed, but he'll get over it!" Dean's voice rose. "Another day on the job, we need to move. Don't you dare scratch my Baby," he added, mildly threatening in tone.

Cas, finally understanding the timeliness of the situation, reluctantly nodded and got into the car. Dean had no idea if the angel had driven it before, but right now it didn't matter, they didn't have the time to drop someone off and proceed to the next spot.

Dean watched until Cas pulled out of the parking lot and made a left, the Impala rumbling as she quickly ate up the pavement beneath her. He then took off at a run towards the right, checking his watch for the time after every hundred steps. He only hoped the station and Sam would still be standing when he got there.

He turned a corner down the last little street just past seven and a half minutes after he had started running. However, to his absolute horror, it seemed that seven and a half minutes had taken too long.

Dean saw the smoke before he saw the building itself, and while he wanted to stop dead in his tracks out of disbelief, he pushed himself forward into the still empty parking lot, chest heaving with exertion. His eyes were wide as he looked at the building. Flames had started curling around the doors and windows and the whole top of the building was smoking. Dean had no idea how long the blaze had been going on, but given that firemen hadn't shown up yet, it couldn't have been very long.

No way it had grown this size in that amount of time without some evil supernatural help. Why, of all the things, why did they have to be dealing with a pyro ghost?

"Sam!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, looking for any way into the building, or any sign that Sam or the sheriff had gotten out unharmed. In the front of the building, he found neither. He got as close as he could to the flames, still shouting. From his position, he could see that the glass door was blocked by something and that smoke was rapidly filling up the inside of the building. Dean switched tactics and curved around the side of the building and pulled out his phone.

He dialed the emergency services as quickly as he could and told them to get to the police station a-s-a-freaking-p and was told that vehicles were on their way out. He was told to remain out of the fire and stay on the line.

He'd been planning on doing that initially, but after another few seconds of looking through the black smoke, he realized that there was a very real possibility that his brother was in there, possibly unconscious or hurt, and had no way to get out. Sam may not have the three minutes it would take the fire department to arrive to start helping.

The breaking of glass from the back of the building was the last motivating factor he needed to tell the sensible part of his brain to shut up in favor of the 'save Sammy' section, which usually won out anyways. Sam was going to kill him for this, if he was still conscious when Dean got to him. As he got closer, he saw that the flames had begun to collapse a section of the roof, which warped the doors and had left one of them cracked open. One of the windows in the back office had broken, but Dean didn't see any sign of movement immediately around the window, and it was too high for him to clamber through. The doors were his best bet.

He'd need two hands for whatever they were getting into, and stowed the shotgun underneath a tree and some yet to be cleaned up leaves that were away from the blaze.

Dean then switched out the phone in his hand for the bandana he always carried, the one that had gotten softer with more years of use, no doubt to patch up hand wounds and quell fevers and offer support like it had in the past. How much more blood had it seen than he remembered? No time to dwell on it now. He tied it around his nose and mouth, not that it would do much good, but anything that could help mattered at that point.

He took a few deep breaths and shook his head before he clambered through the door, staying low to avoid what smoke he could, shouting Sam's name the whole way. He'd already gotten his brother out of a fire once, he could do it again.

* * *

Even from inside the blaze, Sam could tell that it was spreading much too quickly for that of a normal fire, which fit the descriptions of what had happened to the other victims. No sprinklers came on like they should have, and the damage he could see around him was soon obscured with thick smoke that danced in the firelight.

He'd met some pissed off spirits in his time as a hunter, and this one was high on the list, whether or not she had reason to be pissed.

"What do we do?" the sheriff coughed out, trying to keep his face in the crook of his elbow to avoid the smoke. His eyes were wildly scanning what he could see in front of him for the spirit, which had yet to appear again. If they were lucky, she'd stay away.

Sam squinted through the smoke again to the front door, which was definitely not an option. They may be able to make it to the back door, but whether or not it was blocked, Sam had no idea, and they may not have time to go there and come back and get another plan. The hallways leading to the holding cells were also blocked. Sam honestly had no idea. "Closest room with a window that leads out?" he eventually pitched, his voice loud and hoarse to be heard over the roar of the flames. The continued coughing definitely wasn't helping his aching ribs any.

Maybe if they didn't have to go the whole way through a blocked hallway, they could make something work.

"Office," Matthews pointed with his free arm towards the back of the station, where the fire was somewhat less concentrated. There was an offshoot of the main room that lead into a section Sam hadn't yet been into, where the individual offices were. The entrance was blocked by a knocked over file cabinet, and, of course, more fire, but it was their best and closest bet.

"Go," Sam nodded. Matthews maneuvered around him and sidestepped as best he could the debris on the floor, Sam doing the same as he followed in his footsteps. He checked over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure the spirit hadn't appeared right behind them.

The smoke continued to thicken as the fire continued to expand. The two men carefully picked their way to the downed file cabinet, which was too hot to touch to get across. Sam offered a shoulder, which Matthews used to lever himself up to step over the barricade and over to the other side, and threw up a hand which Sam grabbed and got himself over in a similar fashion. Out in the main area, something in the ceiling creaked and snapped, but Sam didn't look back to find out what it was.

They were met with a walkway that split into two offices, one of which had an open door. Sunlight filtered in through the window, providing the room with a source of light other than the red-hot fire that was reflecting off everything. Both men immediately started looking for something they could use to get to the window, as it was raised above the normal level, all the while trying to avoid the flames that were climbing up the walls around them.

Through the smoke, Sam noticed the desk in the center of the room, and Matthews followed his gaze towards it. They nodded to each other, not needing words as the smoke kept building, and moved the desk so that it was positioned near the wall under the window. Sam, being the taller one, then took the lead, got up on top of the desk, and used the butt of his pistol to break through the glass when it was clear the window wouldn't open due to the structure shifting.

"Matthews!" he shouted down, one word being all he could manage before he dissolved into a fit of coughing. Being up higher meant he was more exposed to the smoke, which was trying to filter out through the hole that had been made. Sam put his gun back in his jacket and raised an elbow to cover his nose and mouth as he coughed, but when he turned around to look for the sheriff behind him, he wasn't there.

He cast a quick glance back at the window before he got down from the desk, grateful at least that for now he was below the rising smoke. The heat, however, was also rising, and flames started to lick at his jacket as he squinted his eyes to search the room for the sheriff.

"Sam!" His name was strained and cut short, and Sam struggled to see more than a foot in front of him through the smoke. He followed the noise and stayed low, and was eventually able to make out Matthews' legs on the ground in front of him, the rest of his body stretched out beyond the threshold of the office door.

In the firelight beyond, Sam could just barely make out the ghost standing a foot or so beyond, apparently keeping Matthews in place on the floor as the flames encroached. Sam immediately stiffened, his fuzzy mind trying to figure out where the hell he could find some iron in the office to dispel the ghost. Their guns were out in the main area, and it would take him too long to get back out there. The bullets in his normal pistol were silver, not iron, so they wouldn't be of any help either.

Maybe a hammer, nails, some sort of utensils? He started running through a list of possible things in his head. "Hang on!" he yelled back, and began searching what drawers he could for anything that he could use. After a few moments, he heard a scream, one that didn't come from Matthews, and he took a few steps back into the doorway, just in time to watch the ghost go up in flames of her own.

A small weight was lifted from his shoulders when he realized that Dean and Cas must have gotten the house burned, like he had said. The ghost was gone, and while he liked to believe that the fire decreased in intensity ever so slightly, it didn't go out completely.

Smoke inhalation and minor burns were already becoming a problem, they needed to get out, and fast. Sam stuck out a hand and helped Matthews to his feet, who joined Sam with his own fit of coughing. They struggled back into the room, where Sam got Matthews up onto the desk and gave him a slight boost to make his way through the window. As soon as he was through, Sam reached an arm up, but stopped when he heard another voice in the station.

Surely it couldn't be, right? No way he'd be here…

"Sammy?!" Sure enough, it was Dean's worried tone that carried through the flames and the collapsing building to reach Sam's ears. He was supposed to have stayed in the car, he wasn't supposed to be in the station. There was no way in hell Sam was going out the window then, not with Dean looking for him inside (how the hell he had gotten in, Sam had no idea, but he wasn't exactly surprised that his brother had managed to), unlikely to give up until he found Sam.

He muttered a 'damnit' under his breath and maneuvered back off the desk and through the room towards where the downed file cabinet was blocking the way. "Dean!" he shouted over the roar, and jerked backwards instinctively as the building creaked around him.

"Sam!" It was definitely closer, but through his watery, dizzy vision, Sam couldn't make out where his brother was coming from. He got as close as he could to the cabinet without touching it, not being able to get across without some sort of lever like he and Matthews had offered each other.

"There's a cabinet! It's-" Sam cut off abruptly in another fit of coughing, once again jostling his ribs and sending him into another dizzy spell caused by the lack of oxygen. Whatever he had managed to say though, thankfully, had been enough, as an outstretched hand appeared out of the smoke in front of him. Sam took it and grasped it tightly before he used it to lever himself up and over the cabinet, struggling to maintain his balance as he did so.

There was no smile on Dean's face when Sam came over, not that there should have been, and Sam would have been berating him if they hadn't been in the middle of an inferno. Still, something like relief bloomed in the center of his chest at the sight of his brother once again appearing to save his ass. Missing memories didn't take away the instinctual and ever-present need for the older Winchester to protect the younger one, even at Dean's own expense.

"Door busted open," Dean explained loudly, one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other pointed towards the back exit. His voice was a bit muffled, and as Sam squinted, he noticed it was because their bandana was obscuring the bottom half of Dean's face, probably to act as some sort of a smoke guard. It was probably doing a whole lot of good, given what they were facing. His eyes were blown wide and panicked under his guise of trying to keep it together, and his face was already streaked with soot and sweat. Sam imagined he probably looked a few times worse.

Dean didn't give Sam a chance to reply before the hand on his shoulder turned into an arm under it, and he immediately began supporting some of his little brother's weight as he tried to maneuver them back towards the door. Sam's feet kept catching on bits of debris on the floor, and Dean's counterweight was the only thing that kept them from fully collapsing in a heap.

The creaking in the building seemed to follow them as they picked their way back where Dean had entered. The noise seemed to reach its pitch the moment Sam's eyes registered outside light filtering through the smoke. Those must have been the doors Dean had mentioned busted open, and next to them was a cabinet that must have at one point been blocking them. Sam didn't know how Dean had gotten over it, but a cabinet couldn't stand in the way of Dean Winchester, and that was about all the explanation Sam needed.

Dean turned his head up and Sam followed suit, as if they'd be able to see anything beyond the flames. It was either what Sam didn't see, or what they both heard that had Dean picking up the pace, and Sam trying to keep up. His lungs burned for something other than the hazy, contaminated air around them, and the heat on his back had risen considerably.

However fast they moved, they couldn't seem to catch up to the door before the noises caught up to them.

"Not gonna make it," Sam heard Dean mutter under his breath, like the final nail in the coffin of realization that the building was actually about to come down around them.

Sam could swear he almost heard sirens outside. They were close, so damn close. But before they could get to the door, Dean was pushing both of them down towards the ground in a futile attempt to avoid further catastrophic injury. The fire around him got darker as Dean tried to cover Sam's head with his arms, and Sam found that he didn't have the strength to push him away or try to do the same.

Once again, Dean was protecting him, but there was no one left to protect Dean. Why hadn't he just stayed in the damn car? Asking it again didn't make the answer disappear from Sam's head any faster.

When the ceiling, its beams, and the fire did in fact clamber to the ground, it buried the Winchesters with it, and Sam finally gave into the dizziness that had been plaguing him since the smoke started.


	33. Chapter 33

_Happy weekend! A bit of a different take on this chapter, considering the boys current predicament, hopefully you guys like it (feedback, as always, makes better writers!) Special thanks to freetobescary, ThornsHaveRoses, VegasGranny, Celtic Knot, lanteaddicted1, and DearHart for your reviews and for always keeping me going!_

 _I still don't own SPN, but will definitely be following along to the SDCC coverage coming up!_ _I am also not a medic in any capacity, so I apologize if any information is wrong, I'm doing the best I can with the time I have to work, research, and write._

* * *

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, rebel, fallen, graceless, Winchester, any of the names that have applied to him over the millennia, many of them having come about in just the last decade. He had been faced with much change, not just on a cosmic scale, but on a more personal scale as well. One thing, he had found, that had not changed (only his ability to had) was his appreciation and joy of flight.

It has always been a means of getting from one location to another, but sometimes it was more than that. It allowed him the ability to see the world in its entirety in all its beauty. The sounds, rushing colors, striking visuals, there was no comparison to that feeling anywhere else. He wished, sometimes, that he could fly somewhere just for the sake of doing so, but after all the unpleasantness with the fall, he learned that it was no longer possible. It was in the reflection that followed that Cas noticed how much he would not only notice and miss the convenience of flight, but the joy of it as well.

Cars were confining. There was no other way for the angel to put it. They were large metal containers on wheels, pinnacles of his father's creation's technological prowess, but they still didn't compare to his wings and the flight beneath them.

The Impala, if it were possible, was different. Cas had seen Dean on occasion view her, because it was a she lovingly entitled 'Baby' and Dean would never let Cas forget it, in a similar fashion to how he viewed his wings. She was a means to travel, yes, but also much more. She was a home and security for the Winchesters when they seldom had much else. She provided Dean a way to fly without ever leaving the ground.

Speeding down open Kansas highways, windows down, rock music blaring, that was where Cas had seen the eldest Winchester the most at peace, of course with his younger brother by his side.

It was because of these differences, importances, and the fact that the car was a family member itself, that Cas drove her as carefully and as efficiently as he could to the burned remnants of the Stevens' household. While he was confident in his ability to not damage the beautiful, black beast that Dean had entrusted him with, he had learned to never be too careful.

He wanted, beyond anything else, for Dean and Sam to be able to ride out in the car at the end of the afternoon. That, of course meant that the ghost had to be dispelled, the brothers had to be unhurt, and the car had to remain undamaged.

The actual burning of the house went smoothly, which should have been cause for relief, but instead only increased the worry in the angel's mind. If things were peaceful at the house, that meant that the spirit was at the station with the Winchesters.

The Impala was, of course, irreplaceable, but that didn't stop Cas from wishing that yet again he had his wings so he could get to the brothers just a few minutes faster and prevent any further harm from being done.

He made sure that the small blaze would not spread before he got back into the car and headed to the other edge of town. To his dismay, he saw the billow of black smoke in the sky and heard the roar of sirens before he saw the physical police station. At least the emergency professionals were already on site, hopefully with Sam and Dean sitting annoyed on the back of a vehicle tugging at the shock blankets they had been forced to wear.

As Cas pulled up and parked the car a safe distance away from the fire and where people were working, he realized again that it wouldn't be the case. He quickly advanced to the scene, only to be stopped by a fireman with his hand out.

"We can't have you come any closer, sir, it isn't safe," he advised.

Cas, of course, understood, but it wouldn't stand. "I have reason to believe that my brothers were inside with the sheriff when the blaze started, please, let me by," he said loud enough to be heard over the hoses, sirens, and bustle of movement.

"Sam?" It was a bit weak and came from behind Cas, but it was enough for him to tell that the voice didn't belong to Dean, which was another cause for concern. When he turned around, he noticed the sheriff sitting in a stretcher in the back of an open ambulance, being checked out by one of the paramedics.

His face had its fair share of cuts and burns, one of his arms had been immobilized in a sling, the other was wrapped in bandages, and there was an oxygen mask over his face.

"Yes, he is my brother, was he in the station with you?" Cas asked hurriedly, and walked a few steps closer.

The sheriff, Matthews as denoted by his name tag, nodded slightly. "Was right behind me…dunno where he went." Cas was about to ask if he could tell him anything else, but the man soon dissolved into a fit of coughing that fogged up the oxygen mask. He doubted there was much more to the story that he couldn't figure out himself.

"Thank you, I appreciate it. I wish you a quick recovery," he added honestly. Matthews gave a half-hearted smirk but said nothing else in response.

Cas studied him for another moment before increased commotion brought his attention back to the still burning building and the blaze that was hopefully getting under control. Firemen were ferrying tools back and forth at an alarming rate, and one or two at a time would disappear in full gear through one of the back doors to the station.

In the minutes that followed, Cas had stepped as close to the building as they would allow him. There was still no sign of either Winchester, and by that point Cas was just hoping they would find anything at all. He was answered when they called to bring over a stretcher. In unison, they worked to open the doors fully and when they did so, smoke continued to billow out from the entryway.

The stretcher and paramedics with masks went inside for a few minutes, in which Cas was left lying in wait. When they finally did reappear from the smoke, it was at an increased pace with Sam, hopefully just unconscious, on the stretcher between them.

* * *

There were a few positives to living in a small town. Everyone knew everyone, emergency incidents were not frequent occurrences, and when one did arise, the hospital was a short drive away. All of these factors came together, for better or for worse, when the local police station erupted into flames, as if it were the grand finale to a few days of violent, fiery torture unlike anything the town had ever seen.

For a paramedic in the center of the recent days like Masie Nixon, she had hoped that things wouldn't be getting any worse. However, another call eventually came in from a flustered and worried man relaying that the police station was going up with people still inside. Unfortunately, the mystery man disconnected the call before he could say much else, which Masie never tok as a good sign.

In the few minutes it took the fire trucks and ambulances to get there, the flames had already caused the roof to cave in and were showing no signs of stopping. The quick-moving blaze was definitely strange, but if nothing else, it lined up with their last week of burn related injuries. They found the sheriff just outside the building clutching his arm, having leapt out from a high office window. Through his coughing, he kept repeating "Behind me, he was right behind me," in increasingly broken speech. He was taken to an ambulance, fixed up as best as they could, and given oxygen.

Masie lost track of the sheriff when the black beast of a car rolled up and she was subsequently called to the back of the station. She had no idea what the car was about, and hoped they weren't just getting more curious reporters or viewers, they all had a job to do. The firemen had headed inside in their full gear, looking for the other man the sheriff had mentioned. Others were working with hoses to try and quell the flames, but it wasn't working nearly fast enough. By the time they got done, there wouldn't be much left of a building to save.

She had been getting stuff prepped in the ambulance when a call went out and more people went to the back door opening of the station where the firemen had gone in. Masie followed behind and arrived just in time to see a few station members coming back out.

"Anything?" she asked, ready to head in if need be. On the downside, a small town meant smaller forces of emergency services, so she may have to head in. If it meant saving a life in the process though, there was no question about it.

One of the men nodded, almost imperceptible through the gear, and the second ran back to the truck. "Two, one's pinned down pretty bad, see if we can stabilize the debris and get them out," he answered, relaying the information to Masie and a few other service members that had come around to see what was going on.

"Backup?" Jack, another paramedic, spoke up, his thoughts on the same wavelength as Masie's. It wouldn't be the first time, and certainly not the last, that they would be put into a more precarious position.

The same fireman nodded, and they broke apart when the second one came back with a few tools. Everyone knew the drill. They got suited up as best they could, masks and fire-retardant jackets being the main thing, and got the stretchers out and ready for transport.

Two men, Masie hadn't been expecting that. The sheriff had only mentioned the one, so where had the second one come from? The guy that phoned it in, maybe trying to play hero and getting caught up in the mess? She shook her head, wishing that sometimes people would leave it to the professionals, but also understanding where the urge to help came from.

She returned along with Jack and their necessary supplies. By that time, the fire had been pushed back from the rear section of the station so they weren't dealing with active flames in the hallway the men were trapped in. Outside crews were still working on getting the rest of the building put out, but it was under control.

Masie followed the firemen in, and Jack came behind her, both of them being mindful of the cabinets and other debris that had fallen during the fire. A whole section of the roof had caved in and the walls were coated in soot. Their boots splashed in residual water from the hoses as they made their way inside and down the fifteen or so feet to where the men were trapped.

She didn't know what she had been expecting, but she had hoped that it would be better than what she saw. When they got close enough to see through the smoke still hanging in the air, it became clear that part of the caved in roof was trapping two men beneath it. Both appeared to be unconscious upon first glance, which was an immediate red flag.

The man with the short hair was practically on top of the man with the longer hair, as if in an attempt to shield him from the damage that was about to occur. The crews were working on getting the lower man freed first since there was less in the way, but neither of them looked good. They'd have to do a full check when they got outside the building into the ambulance, but just watching over the situation, it was clear that the short-haired one had sustained a head injury and the longer-haired one was breathing much too shallowly to be normal.

In all truth, Masie was surprised the two of them were still alive in the first place. She didn't get much time to think about anything else because a moment later, Jack was motioning her over to help move one of the ceiling tiles that had fallen in the way. It was surprising, and lucky, that it hadn't gone up in flames as well.

"He's face-down, no sign of a possible back injury, we need to move him out," Jack said as soon as the tiles were out of the way. Masie peered in just a bit closer and nodded in agreement. If it wasn't clear before, it certainly was now; the arms and shoulders of the other man had covered most of what would have injured the other. They could start piecing together a play by play after they got out of the station, but for now, they had to work on getting the men out and putting the fire out.

Masie lowered the stretcher and got it as close to the man as she could before they slowly, and extremely carefully, tried to slide him out from the grasp of the other man. And wow, was he a big guy to be moving while he was unconscious. It took both of them and a fireman to get him clear of the debris and the almost protective arms that didn't seem to want to let him go.

When they finally got him up onto the stretcher, Masie immediately put an oxygen mask onto his face, raised up the device, and started wheeling him outside with Jack in front. The sunlight was a welcome change from the smoky, hot interior of the station, but in the natural light she could also see what they were dealing with, which as always, was both a blessing and a curse.

The man had clear bad burns on his hands and face, definitely second-degree and nearing third. Luckily, he had been wearing a jacket which had covered his arms from most of the damage, and while it was singed in places, she was willing to bet that the overall burn damage wouldn't be too bad. The blood from various scrapes could be fixed with gauze and stitches if need be. She was the most worried about smoke inhalation, and just hoped they could get him hooked up to a ventilator in time.

The lingering officials in the lot parted when they saw the stretcher coming through, giving Masie and Jack a clear route to the nearest ambulance. The man still hadn't stirred, even while they were lifting the stretcher into the ambulance, which was still cause for worry. She pulled down her mask around her neck so she could work easier but also have it handy for when she would have to head back in. She was about to climb in after Jack before she heard hurried footsteps behind her and turned around, half expecting it to be someone from inside saying she was needed.

A man in a trenchcoat was standing beside the ambulance, looking worried beyond all belief. Masie knew the look well enough, she'd seen it enough times to last multiple lives.

"You know the victims?" she asked, guessing he had talked to someone or known where the 'victims' had been.

The man glanced inside the ambulance before he nodded ever so slightly. "Sam Winchester, his older brother, Dean, is inside. You said victims…he's not…?" the man trailed off.

Masie quickly shook her head and handed Jack a pair of gloves. The protective covering of the other man made immediate sense, she had an older brother, she knew how it went. "Just unconscious, we'll be transporting him as soon as he's settled," she assured as calmly as possible, which she had plenty of practice in doing. "And you are?"

"Cas, family member," he said, a bit awkwardly, but nothing Masie hadn't seen before. Seeing family in danger tended to make one not the best communicator on the planet.

"Anything we should know before transport? Allergies, past medical history, other living relatives to contact?" Masie ran through as Jack got everything ready for transport.

Cas thought for a moment before he shook his head. "With Sam, no, he is in good health," he paused, "Dean is recovering from a brain injury, he was involved in the plane crash and diagnosed with retrograde amnesia."

Amnesia? Well, that wasn't something you saw every day. "I see," Masie nodded back. A brain injury and add on another head injury on top of that…two months after the crash if her memory of the event was correct. If this new injury was more than a flesh wound, Dean could be in trouble. "We'll do everything we can, Cas, they're working on freeing Dean right now."

"Will they be alright?" Cas asked, his worry seeming to deepen if it were even possible. He was watching carefully as Jack set Sam up with an IV and gently wrapped gauze around the burns on his hands.

"Fire wounds are tricky, we'll try," Masie repeated, and looked back to Jack, who nodded that they were ready to go.

Cas simply nodded. It wasn't like he had much say in the matter, it was one of the things Masie would never get used to, seeing people to helpless and yet so committed to helping the ones they loved. "Can I?" he gestured vaguely to Sam's unconscious body in the back of the ambulance.

Masie looked to Jack, who nodded, and began rummaging around one of the compartments for a blanket. "Quickly, he needs to be taken to the hospital." Cas didn't need more of an answer and moved a step closer.

Maybe he said something, maybe he didn't, but Masie was pulled away in the next moment by one of the firemen.

"How bad is it?" she asked, trying to not let any of the other man's worry impact her ability to work. But having two brothers in the same incident, both with serious injuries, there was a possibility things wouldn't turn out well.

"We've almost got him free, his arms and head definitely need to be looked at," he relayed, to which Masie nodded. Another stretcher, another oxygen mask, another IV, she had the list set up in her head for what to do next when she made her way back over to the ambulance.

Cas was standing a few steps off to the side, facing the building, apparently having had his moment with Sam. As Masie reached up to close the doors of the ambulance, she vaguely noted that Sam's burns looked slightly better from where they peeked out from under the gauze, but surely it was just a trick of the light, people didn't heal that fast. The ambulance sped off, lights flashing, a minute later and Masie strapped on a mask of her own, ready to repeat the same process over again.

Aside from the necessary movement to get him out from under the debris, it was clear that Dean hadn't moved of his own accord. The head wound was still sluggishly bleeding, and Masie wrapped it loosely before getting him too equipped with a mask and wheeled out into the light. The paleness of his face contrasted sharply with the blood and soot that marred it, and Masie pushed the stretcher just a bit faster.

Unlike his brother, Dean was not wearing a jacket, and the burns to his arms were slightly larger in scale but less severe. Maybe it was possible he had been in the blaze for less time? Again, they'd piece together a story from what the sheriff said and whatever the brothers included if, _when,_ they woke up. If was always a reality, but Masie still tried to do the job with a small amount of hope in her back pocket.

Cas watched the whole way as Masie wheeled Dean to the next waiting ambulance, and as soon as he caught sight of the bandage covering Dean's head, Cas seemed to pale a shade.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, burns aren't as bad, we'll get him fixed up," she assured again, and swapped out her gloves before she put in an IV after getting the stretcher into the vehicle. Cas was as close as he could be without physically being inside, looking at everything that was going on.

Masie turned away to grab another roll of gauze and when she turned back, the burns looked slightly less inflamed. Cas staggered back a step from the ambulance, hand slightly outstretched as if trying to reach the unconscious man.

"Cas?" Masie questioned, hoping to draw him back while she wrapped Dean's arms. She couldn't afford the time it would take to calm him down if he started freaking it out, and no matter how much she wanted to tell him that they'd be doing their best, getting Dean to a hospital had to come first. "That black car yours?" she said, referring to the one she had seen in the lot when they had pulled up.

"Dean's," Cas said shortly.

Masie nodded at that. "You alright to drive?" She looked up from the injured man to the worried one, checking for any obvious signs of stress or an inability to drive. If there were any, she'd find someone available to take him over. To her relief, Cas assured that he was fine to operate a vehicle. "Follow behind, someone at the desk inside the hospital will tell you where they've been taken. They're in good hands," she said as gently as she possibly could. Nothing was ever for certain, but damn it did they try their best.

"Thank you," Cas replied quietly, eyes not leaving Dean until Masie stopped moving, a clear sign that it was time to go. Cas backed up and pursed his lips before he shut the doors of the ambulance and Masie tapped on the glass. In a second they were off, everything rattling as they did so.

Dean still had yet to stir, and Masie went about doing some preliminary measurements before they reached the hospital. "You survived a plane crash, right? If you can get through that, I doubt a fire will keep you down long," she talked in a low tone as she worked. Masie was a complete believer that unconscious people could still hear. Whether they remembered or not was another thing, but in the moment, maybe the words were helpful to them.

"Yeah, you seem like the strong, protective type, we'll get Sam fixed up too," Masie mentioned. With such a position as they had been found in, he was probably worried about his younger brother. "Cas is on his way over. You seem to have a good family around you, Dean," she jotted something down, "so don't you go anywhere, alright?"


	34. Chapter 34

_It's finally time for an update now that the writer's block has lessened! A few quick notes before it gets started, if anyone actually reads these A/Ns ;) I didn't realize it before, but last chapter pushed this story over the 100,000 word mark and next week is the one year anniversary of the story being posted. Both are milestones I never expected to hit with this story, it's officially my longest story ever in both word count and amount of time spent on it, and while it takes a lot of work to get out, I'm so happy it's gotten this far. Truly, I thank everyone for reading this and following me down the angsty rabbit hole, it really is fun to do once there's a few ideas present. While I don't think we'll make it to 200,000 words, you never know with some fics. I just hope you all stay tuned :)_

 _On another note, while I was dealing with writer's block for this, I started working on a season 14 speculative story that will be posted sometime this week. It's not a happy one, so if angst is your thing, go check it out later, it would make my day!_

 _Thanks, as always, to my wonderful commenters. Without your feedback, reactions, and ideas, this story wouldn't have gotten to where it is today. If you've got a second, let me know what you thought about the ending to this chapter, it's going places. Special thanks to ThornsHaveRoses, VegasGranny, DearHart, and mak2018 for the comments on the last chapter!_

 _I still don't own Supernatural. Two more months until season 14, but who's counting?_

* * *

Cas followed Masie's instructions and drove a safe distance behind the ambulances when he saw them leave for the hospital. Of course, they pulled into the ambulance bay where he then lost sight of them. Cas pulled the Impala around to the visitor parking area, and after taking a moment to collect himself, exited the car and walked through the front.

He was met at the front desk by one of the nurses, who was unfortunately not able to tell him very much about Sam and Dean's conditions given they had just been brought in. The hospital was not equipped with a burn unit, but since their burns appeared to be non life threatening, they wouldn't have to be immediately transferred. They were both being treated, and Cas would be updated when they knew more.

He wished all parties involved had more information, but that desire to know everything so he could fix things wouldn't help anyone. Instead, he nodded silently and accepted a small stack of forms and a clipboard that the nurse handed over for him to fill out.

Cas took a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting area and set about filling out the forms. He did so to the best of his ability, listing Dean's amnesia and Sam's recent gunshot wounds as areas of concern and recent injuries. Allergies, past medical histories, living relatives, everything Cas filled out to the degree he was able and to one which wouldn't arouse suspicion.

When he finally got done with the forms, he returned them and was directed to sit back down, where he would be told as soon as they had more information.

Cas sat there, physically twiddling his thumbs and staring at the wall, grateful that at least no one else was in the room with him. Small town, small hospital, there were certain things to be thankful for.

He eventually pulled out his phone to help pass the time, but he found his finger hovering over the 'call' icon. He hadn't put down anyone as next of kin for the Winchesters besides himself. It was true, but not entirely.

He clicked a few buttons, but paused before he hit the next one. So much had changed in the past two days…how could he possibly convey it all? Cas raised the phone to his ear and listened to it ring twice before he made he way outside, though not straying too far from the door.

Two more rings later, the voice on the other end of the line picked up. "Cas? Fancy hearing from you, you miss us already? Things alright?" Jody's voice came through loud and clear, and despite the current situation, Cas couldn't help but smile ever so slightly.

"Jody, I am glad you picked up. Things are…" he trailed off.

"Something's wrong, right? Gosh, not even two days since we've last seen you…please tell me it's not about the boys." Her voice had lost its slight happy edge at seeing who had called, and was not filled with worry that even Cas could hear.

There was no sense in dragging out her worry longer, and there was no nicer way to describe the situation than with the truth. "There was an…accident. We were on a hunt-"

"Dean convinced you guys?" Jody said with a sigh.

"He did, and his reasoning for the most part was sound, otherwise Sam and I would not have gone along. The spirit we were facing is no longer a problem, but Sam was trapped in a fire that it set. Dean…he went in after him and suffered head trauma when the building began to collapse." There it was, all out in the open.

"Jesus," Jody whispered to herself. "They're okay, right? I mean, relatively speaking, they're not still in the burning building?"

Cas shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. "Relatively speaking, they are fine, both are at a nearby hospital. I am waiting on an update, since they were just brought in."

"Where are you guys?" There was some rustling on the other end of the line, like she was moving papers around.

"A small town, about half an hour outside of Lebanon, still in Kansas."

A pause followed. "I can be there tomorrow at the earliest."

"Jody, I appreciate it, and they will too, but it really isn't necessary," Cas assured, and the rustling stopped.

"You're watching out for them, right? Anyone watching out for you?" Cas found that he didn't have an answer.

"I will be fine. You have a job, teenagers to attend to, another person waiting on news won't be of any service, I'm sorry to say. I just thought it was best for you to know."

Jody was silent. "You're absolutely sure? I can come over for a few days, things have been quiet here."

"I am sure, I can handle things here."

"And you'll call me as soon as anything changes, good or bad?" Jody checked, to which Cas nodded again.

"Of course, though I hope it will be with good news."

Jody sighed. "So do I," she said quietly. "Even if there is no news, just call back in a few hours, alright? I don't care what time it is."

"I will, Jody," Cas promised. "And thank you." It was reassuring to have someone to talk to about the recent events, since there was no one else he could call. With both brothers injured, he couldn't even look to one for guidance and reassurance as he normally would. It was a strange, ugly situation to be in. They said their goodbyes and the lines clicked off.

Cas eventually slid the phone back into his pocket and steeled himself to go back inside the hospital. He hadn't spent much time in them, save for a few times over the years and the most recent trip the month prior, and before he hadn't quite understood why people seemed to hate them so much. They were instruments of attempted healing, which Cas thought would be celebrated. Seeing it from the other side, however, actually having family members in danger that he cared about, and to have their care for the most part out of his control, was not something that he enjoyed.

Even the small amount of healing he had done had left his grace somewhat depleted, and he wished he was able to do more. He always wished he could help more, but since the fall, things had been different. Hopefully, it would be enough so that their injuries would be able to heal, but Cas was still unsure.

He went back inside after another moment, and settled into the same chair in the waiting room. A few people came and went, but there was still no news. If Cas needed to sleep, he was certain he would have felt tired, and the hours kept dragging on. The sunlight streaming in through the glass doors eventually faded, giving way to darkness and the somewhat harsh white lights that came on overhead.

It was nearing ten at night before a nurse came over with a clipboard. She looked around for just a moment, and at seeing that Cas was the only one there, took a step closer. "Mr. Winchester?" she checked, and Cas nodded as he stood up to meet her halfway. The name was strange to him, but apparently only family was allowed information on their other members, so it was once again necessary. Her name tag was denoted as 'Monica Nixon'. He made a mental note to ask if she was related to the paramedic, and would hopefully be able to do so once things had calmed down.

"How are they?" he asked, not wanting to postpone the news any further. It was probably logical that someone would have told him if one of them had any severe complications, but again, he wasn't sure.

"They've both been stabilized," Monica started off with, and Cas let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry the news took so long to reach you, there were many things to check for," she explained, and looked for a second through one of the files in her hands. "We'll start with Sam."

"Is he alright?"

Monica nodded, apparently used to the common question before she had been able to give her explanations. "Relatively speaking, yes. His burns are minor second-degree and should heal in a few weeks time without scarring, as long as treatment is kept up. Smoke inhalation is a bigger problem, I'm afraid," she added in a bit more serious tone, and Cas' shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

"He is currently being given oxygen through a breathing tube, which is not abnormal in cases where fires have been involved. The blood tests came back negative for carbon monoxide poisoning, and the chest x-ray showed no serious lasting damage." Fortunately, those all sounded like positives, and Cas was just hoping there wasn't 'another shoe to drop' as Dean often said. "We're keeping him sedated until we're confident his oxygen levels are back up, and he should start coming around after then. He's being given antibiotics as well to avoid complications that may arise from a recent…bullet wound, was it, to the chest?" Cas nodded at that. "With care after he wakes up, he should be fine in a few weeks time," Monica finally finished.

"You are confident in that?" There was nothing in her tone or the way she looked to suggest otherwise, but he just wanted to check.

Monica nodded back. "I am. Everything is pointing in the right direction."

Cas didn't allow himself to get too hopeful, not yet, as Sam was only half of the equation when it came to the Winchester brothers. "I am glad to hear that, truly, thank you," he said first. "And Dean? How is he?" Both brothers had been unconscious when they had been brought out, which Cas knew wasn't a positive sign.

She glanced at the second file for a second, refreshing her memory before she looked back up. "He is about the same regarding the burns, mostly first-degree, some second-degree on his hands and arms. Very low levels of smoke inhalation, enough to require oxygen but not intubation, but with him, the head injury is the biggest possible problem."

Cas had been expecting that. It was the main reason why they hadn't wanted to be hunting in the first place and now here they were, face to face with the possible worst-case scenario. They should have known, things always turned out this way.

"He was sent down for a scan a few hours ago, and his levels of brain activity have decreased from where they should be," she started, and held out a hand before Cas could ask more worried questions, "it is possible to recover, of course. He is being monitored for signs of movement or activity, which we are hoping to see in the coming hours. But another head injury, this complicates things, I am sorry to say, we'll let you know if anything changes."

Cas nodded his head slowly. They were back to where they had been only weeks ago. How many comas could Dean realistically pull himself out of? How many head injuries could he get through without something serious going wrong? They were already dealing with a devastating diagnosis, anything more would be crippling.

"Is there anything I can do?" he finally mustered, though he could have guessed the answer.

Monica shook her head. "We're doing all we can. They're getting Dean set up for another scan," she paused to look at her watch, "I can let you sit with Sam for a few minutes if you'd like? Just not long, visiting hours are technically over, but it may help ease some of the worry," she offered.

Cas, of course, straightened up immediately. "I would greatly appreciate that," he assured quickly. Monica smiled ever so slightly, having expected it, and waved for him to follow.

Sam had been moved into a normal room, though the amount of equipment surrounding him was still staggering.

"Mind the machines, there's a chair you can sit in," she motioned to the far side of the room by the bed, which Cas walked over to, and Monica continued walking down the hall.

The room wasn't silent after she left, with various machines beeping and delivering Sam the oxygen he hadn't been given while the fire raged. The younger Winchester was still unconscious, though Cas had been glad to hear that he would wake up when the sedation wore off and his oxygen levels were back to normal. His hands and lower arms where the burns had been were wrapped in gauze and the cuts on his face had been closed with small bandages. All things considered, he was lucky.

And he was lucky because Dean had once again gone into a literal hellhole to save someone he cared about. In all his time watching the Winchesters, Castiel hadn't expected anything else, and he knew that Dean's plan of splitting up before to deal with the problem had been the right one. Still, it didn't make the situation any easier to handle. What he couldn't decide, however, was if it would be easier to deal with once Sam woke up and they were faced with Dean's diagnosis.

"How did we get here, Sam?" he asked quietly, his voice joining the chorus of machines. Of course, there was no answer from Sam, and while Cas had no problem answering the physical, factual aspect of the question, he was still having trouble with everything else behind it.

About fifteen minutes elapsed before Monica came back, and regretfully informed Cas that he should head somewhere for the night. She wasn't kicking him out, but rules were rules, and if the brothers remained in the hospital much longer, she promised that Cas would be set up with something. For the first night, however, he was on his own.

Even though the bunker was half an hour away, it was still too far from the hospital to be a reasonable location to spend the night. Would a motel be a good idea? That was what Sam had done before, but again, was it worth it so close to home?

Cas found himself sitting in the Impala, trying to think over what to do next. Monica had promised someone would call if anything happened with Sam or Dean, so they were covered in that regard. But Cas couldn't bring himself to physically leave or find another place to stay at that time of night.

He ended up spending the night in Dean's beloved Baby, sitting in the backseat. From that position, he was able to watch the occasional car come down the road and could lean his head up against the window to watch the stars. Cas supposed a night like this would have been peaceful in other circumstances, no apocalypse hanging over their heads, no research to do, no impending…anything, really. Instead, he found the silence deafening, and more than once his eyes drifted from the road to watch the horizon, waiting for the sun to signify the beginning of a new day.

* * *

 _Dean was guessing he was unconscious. He knew he wasn't dreaming, that had a different sort of feeling to it. Though, weren't being unconscious and asleep basically the same thing? Whatever the reason, he didn't need another headache, he needed a way to get up and out of whatever state he was in. And away from the kitchen table he had been seated at when he first 'woke up'._

 _He remembered the fire, getting to Sam, and covering him as the building started to collapse. Then that was it. Lights out, nothing else. He was assuming he wasn_ _'t dead then either, at least, not yet. This all meant that the house he was in was just a memory, a figment of his imagination that he had somehow gotten himself stuck into for whatever reason. His brain really sucked sometimes._

 _It only took a precursory glance around to see that he was seated at the kitchen table in Lisa_ _'s house. Everything was absolutely perfect, which was his first clue that something had been off. There were no glasses on the counter, no plates waiting to be put away, no mail sitting unopened next to the fruit basket. But still, it was familiar, and that was all he could get out of why he was there._

 _He didn_ _'t venture upstairs, his recent nightmare still seared into his brain, and instead stayed in the kitchen. His boots didn't make any sound on the floor, and he wasn't even sure if he was really breathing. Like he had said, thought, whatever, being unconscious and trapped in his own head sucked._

 _Dean passed by the counter and looked up at the pictures that were still hung. He had seen them so many times he had them memorized, which was why he paused immediately upon seeing them._

 _They were different, altered, but no one would know they had been unless they had seen the original images. The photo that once held him and Lisa smiling at the camera now only presented Lisa in the exact same stance. Every other picture that Dean was once a part of was the same way. It was as if he had been physically erased from their lives. He didn_ _'t get a chance to mull it over any more, because a presence behind him had him quickly turning around._

 _"_ _You're right, you know, about being erased," was all she said at first. There was an air of nonchalance and seriousness about her tone that immediately had Dean curious. She was an African American, he guessed at least, wearing a leather jacket and regarding him almost fondly. Something…something about her was familiar, like the deja vu he had been living with for the past month. Suddenly, a part of it was smack in front of his face and he didn't know what to do about it._

 _"_ _Long time, no see, Dean Winchester. We've got some things to discuss." She gestured to the table, and something within Dean knew that sitting down probably wouldn't be the best idea._


	35. Chapter 35

_It seems like every other chapter I'm apologizing for being a week late...oops. Good news is my summer day care job ended, but I caught a nasty summer cold right after that knocked me down for a few days, however I am now back on my feet! Bad news is that summer is coming to a close; I'll try to keep the updates regular, but please be patient :) That being said, thank you all for sticking around, and we're almost at 150 reviews, wow! Again, never thought the story would be going this far. Thanks in particular to cubelixa1, ThornsHaveRoses, VegasGranny, TXKimsonFan, mak2018, DearHart, Celtic Knot, rainbow461830, and grannytrkr54. (that's a lot of names for the past chapter, I can't tell you how happy it made me to read through all of them) It's always nice to hear comments, and thanks to so many of you for taking the time to leave them!_

 _And yes, Billie, we're getting into some fun stuff here! But I have to credit ThornsHaveRoses and I_ _mpalaLove for helping me out with this idea and giving me some advice. Without their feedback I'd probably still be stuck in the 'where the hell do we go from here' mindset I had after the fire got put out. Thanks, guys ;)_

 _And finally, I still don't own Supernatural, but just about 50 days until season 14! (who's counting? I did post a little speculative fic while working through some blocks for this one if anyone wants to check it out, heads up, it's possibly more angsty than this story)_

* * *

 _Needless to say, Dean wasn't sitting down. While it may have been considered rude, he couldn't stop staring at the woman. Something was…off about her. There wasn't a fuzzy quality to her like there was the house around them if he looked hard enough. She looked sharp, almost real. Maybe it was possible she wasn't just a figment of his imagination after all._

 _"_ _You're…real?" he asked after an incredibly long pause, to which she nodded. "And a mind reader?"_

 _She actually slightly chuckled at that, and then shook her head._ _"You being worried about being erased? It doesn't take a mind reader to figure that out by the way you're staring at those photographs," she said, and gestured towards the images Dean had been looking at moments prior._

 _Dean was still skeptical. How many beings could get into people_ _'s heads, let alone ones that seemed to know him? "What's your name?"_

 _"_ _Billie," she said simply. "Pleasure to be re-acquainted, with your unfortunate condition and all."_

 _So they had met before, that would definitely explain her attitude and looks towards him._ _"We've got history, not necessarily all good I'm guessing?" he asked and raised an eyebrow, but didn't come any closer._

 _Billie smirked._ _"See? No mind readers needed here, Dean."_

 _"_ _What are you?" Dean asked next, cutting past all the crap and getting right to it. Billie folded her arms in front of herself, apparently not keen on giving Dean the answer he wanted. Either that, or she was enjoying watching him flounder with his lack of memory. And given their probably complicated past…yeah, it was definitely the second one. "So you're real, not just a figment of my imagination," she nodded along as he tried to piece it together out loud, "I'm unconscious, or dreaming, or whatever. Angel?"_

 _"_ _Not quite. Keep digging," she prompted, still looking quite amused._

 _Not quite an angel, but still real, and was inside his head while he was unconscious. And he was unconscious because of a fire and rubble falling on him, so he was probably injured, hopefully in a hospital, and could possibly be near death. Dean slowly turned his gaze back to her, hoping he was wrong, but knowing he probably wasn_ _'t. "Reaper?" he said in a slightly smaller tone._

 _"_ _Bingo," Billie answered with a smirk._

 _Dean was definitely more rooted in his spot now. If she was here, it meant that things were probably really bad out there. But there was no way in hell he was letting her take him, not after everything that had happened the past month._ _"Why are you here?"_

 _Billie leaned against the kitchen table, arms still folded in front of her._ _"It's been some months since we've talked, you and Sam seem to keep getting into werewolf trouble, funny I'm not here for another one of those." When Dean looked at her, still confused, and not amused, she finally decided to somewhat answer his question. "You'd think it would be to finally take you to the great big empty."_

 _Dean shifted and his face morphed into one of confusion. Empty? The hell was that supposed to mean?_

 _"_ _Considering you're almost dead and you did get rid of my boss a few years ago, it would be fitting for you to finally meet your end."_

 _He held up a hand to stop her where she was._ _"Sorry, got rid of your boss? As in Death? The Death? I got rid of him?" Her stormy frown was enough of an explanation for him, and his mouth remained open just a bit in surprise._

 _"_ _And that," Billie pointed to him, "is the unfortunate reason why I can't go through with it, no matter how much I'd like to."_

 _Of course, that did little to get rid of Dean_ _'s confusion about pretty much anything. "I'm sorry here, you're not making any kind of sense. We've got history, I killed Death apparently, and my reaction to that is why you're not carrying my soul off?"_

 _"_ _In simple terms, yes. In more complex ones, your lack of recollection of the specific events you just referenced is the problem."_

 _"_ _Yeah, tell me about it," Dean scoffed sarcastically._

 _"_ _And because of this condition of yours, you, your brother, and your angel, have all been benched long enough."_

 _Dean looked back at her curiously._ _"Meaning?" he asked and leaned closer. "We tried to come off the bench, work a case, and look how that ended up. I'm almost dead, Sam's…" Dean paused immediately mid-sentence. If he was almost dead from his injuries, how was Sam fairing? "Is Sam okay?" he immediately changed his line of questioning._

 _Billie looked like she almost rolled her eyes, but settled for a sigh instead._ _"You Winchesters, so codependent. Save the world together, die together, when one stops hunting, the other stops hunting. One dies, the other begs to bring him back, you really don't learn, do you? Package deal, right?"_

 _"_ _Answer me!" Dean raised his voice. Not that he could do anything about it in his current state, but it would still help to know. And besides, her ongoing references to other meetings that almost ended in death wasn't helping anything._

 _She waited a few more seconds, looking like she wanted to say something else, but opted to not go with it._ _"Sam's not on the list to be taken," she finally answered, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "And as of now, neither are you, not yet at least, you've both still got work to do. Unfortunately, that work's not getting done as of late."_

 _Dean_ _'s momentary happiness was just as quickly vanquished. "Look, Billie, we're freaking trying, alright? I didn't ask to get stuck with this."_

 _"_ _People have been dying in your absence. A few here or there, but enough to shift a few things." She was back to business, her tone almost cold as she relayed the situation._

 _"_ _You think I don't know that? That's why we took this job in the first place, to get back out there. I can't fix this," Dean said angrily and pointed at his head._

 _"You're right, you can't. You're slipping away as we speak."_

 _That was definitely a comforting thought._ _"Then why are we speaking? Why am I stuck in this house? Why aren't you trying to take me to some great beyond?" he threw his arms out in front of him._

 _"_ _All your questions tie together, Dean, you just don't realize it yet." She was like a cat, playing around with a soon to be dead mouse, and Dean absolutely hated it. Reaper or not, he was growing short on patience with her._

 _"_ _Any chance you could help me realize it, so we could get a move on?" he pressed._

 _Billie continued to look at him, amused by his confusion and need to know what apparently only she understood._ _"This house," she gestured to the fake building around them, "is your mind's recreation of what it would look like now. It's place that used to be like a home to you, Dean, and its occupants that were practically family, and yet there's no record of you ever being here. You've been grieving the loss of something you can't recall losing, of something and someone that doesn't recall losing or even meeting you, and it's taking a toll, whether you realize it or not."_

 _Dean figured he realized it, but probably not in the same way she was referring to._

 _"_ _But without those pesky little memories, you can't move past it and accept the decisions your past self made. You can't reconcile the fact that your father figure is dead, a woman like your sister, who you never even met is dead, along with many other faces you wouldn't even recognize," she began to explain._

 _"_ _Your point being?" Dean prompted._

 _"_ _You're stuck, unable to keep going with your life, and you're dragging Sam and Castiel down with you. You have work to do on a cosmic scale, unfortunately, lives to save, paths to keep intact, and without a solution those problems will continue." The fond look had faded from her face, replaced with one of mild annoyance, as if she really didn't want Dean to have more work to do or to continue to be important to the universe. Well, sucked for her, Dean didn't make the rules._

 _"_ _Yeah, but as we've already gone over, nothing I can do about it," he said with his own level of annoyance. She didn't say anything, but a corner of her mouth turned upwards in what may have been the beginnings of a smirk. Dean couldn't do anything, not medically, not physically, and certainly not while trapped in his own head. But…"Is there something you can do?" he ventured, completely still as he waited for an answer._

* * *

 _December 28_

Castiel's lonely night spent in the Impala was just that, lonely. He entered the hospital approximately five minutes after visiting hours had opened, eager to see if there was a progress report available on Sam and Dean. He hadn't received any notifications, so he was assuming that no new terrible developments had happened. Still, he waited for an older woman in front of him to be directed by the woman at the desk before he got his turn.

"Morning," the female assistant greeted him with a kind smile, which Cas tried to return. "Something I can help you with?"

The angel nodded. "The brothers that were brought in yesterday, Sam and Dean, I was wondering if there was any news or if I would be able to see them?"

"You're Cas, right, the third brother? They said you'd be in first thing," she remarked. She then typed a few things into the computer and read over them. "Nothing's been entered into the system. Monica's their main nurse, she should be here in an hour or so. I'll see if I can get Dr. Thompson over with a progress report, if you wouldn't mind waiting?" she gestured back over to the chairs in the waiting area.

"Of course, thank you," Cas said with another nod, and went to sit back down in the chairs he had become familiar with the day before. Luckily, it didn't take long for a man he assumed to be Dr. Thompson to come from one of the hallways. Aside from another woman in the waiting room, Cas was there alone, and stood when the doctor entered.

"You must be Cas, I'm Mark Thompson, one of the doctors that's been looking over your brothers' care," he introduced, and held his hand out. Cas shook it, simply because he had seen Sam and Dean do it on various occasions with other people. He didn't really understand the usefulness of the gesture, it was a strange way to become acquainted with someone, but he went along with it without a comment.

"It is nice to meet you," Cas returned the pleasantries he had again heard on many occasions. He had been feeling an increased sense of 'deja vu' that some people often referred to, having just been through this same process only weeks prior. "Is there any news about either of their conditions?"

Thompson nodded. "For the most part it's positive, I won't leave you hanging. Sam's oxygen levels increased, so he's off the ventilator and breathing on his own just fine. The sedation is being tapered off, so he should start waking soon. Infection is always a concern following a smoke inhalation injury, so we're keeping him on antibiotics and under a watchful eye, but he should make a full recovery just fine."

Cas had heard a similar report from Monica the day before, but hearing it again with added details took a bit of the weight off of his shoulders. Sam was expected to make a full recovery, that was definitely good news. The odds seemed to be in his favor, and Cas knew what Winchesters were capable of even when the odds were stacked against them.

"And Dean? Monica had mentioned some complications may arise from his previous injuries coupled with the new trauma?" He could, of course, hope that it wouldn't be the case, but he would have to wait a few moments to hear if his hope was enough.

Thompson nodded at that. "Unfortunately, with what we're seeing, that appears to be the case. There's only so much trauma in a short period of time that one can withstand," he said regretfully. "He hasn't yet shown signs of waking, his vitals aren't quite where we'd like them to be, and the scan shows a few more regions of possible damage that could be problems in the future."

Any relief that Cas had felt over Sam being alright was slowly being torn away, and he found himself unable to nod that he understood. "Can you estimate when he may wake up?"

The doctor paused for a moment before he shook his head. "The brain is a fickle thing, there's no way to truly estimate it, especially with his prior injuries. We're keeping a close eye on him, but for now, I'm sorry to say that it's about all we can do."

"Thank you for doing what you can," Cas eventually said, though his attention had waned in the passing moments. Thompson seemed to sense this, and tried to steer the conversation back to the more positive side of things.

"You can go sit with Sam, if you'd like, he should be coming around, just let someone know when he seems fully conscious," he directed. Cas was grateful for the distraction, and after thanking the doctor again when he promised to keep Cas updated on Dean's condition, he headed down the hall towards Sam's room.

Cas paused outside for a few moments to send Jody a text as he had said he would do, updating her on both of their conditions. Her reply came mere seconds later, she must have been keeping a close eye on her phone, and reiterated when they had spoken about the day before, and reminded Cas to take care of himself as well. Even though the Winchesters were both unconscious and Jody was states away, a simple few messages back and forth helped him feel less overwhelmed by the whole thing.

When he finally did enter the room, it was slightly quieter than the night before. The various beeps were still present, but the constant hiss and pull of the ventilator had been removed from the room. Sam had thankfully regained some of his color and looked a bit more like himself with only a cannula wrapped around his nose.

"Good morning, Sam," Cas said before he got any further into the room. He was unsure if Sam could actually hear him or not, but he wouldn't want to scare him should he be aware of some unannounced person coming towards him. "The doctor said that you have been making progress, which he seems pleased about."

He got into the same chair he had been in earlier, and dragged it a bit closer to the bed. "I, too, am happy to hear it, though I had expected nothing less from a fighter such as yourself." Every few seconds he would look at the monitors to see if any of Sam's vitals had changed to indicate that maybe he was waking up, but there was no such change. Thompson had said it would take time though, and Cas had practice with being patient.

He began telling Sam about how he and Dean had dug up the grave, split up, and how he himself had finally torched the house. Cas also reassured Sam that the sheriff had gotten away relatively unscathed, because he knew Sam would be worried about the person he had been trying to protect. He was sure he would have to retell the whole story once Sam was fully conscious, but talking helped to fill the silence, and gave him something to do other than stare at Sam and wait for him to wake. Besides, maybe his storytelling was helping to bring Sam around, but he had no idea.

"I am assuming that burning the house got rid of the spirit, as you anticipated, I am just sorry that I was unable to do it quicker. They ruled the fire as an electrical malfunction, which fits with the other reports in the area, though some of the staff still seems baffled by it all. I suppose it would be quite surprising, especially for a small town like this. Perhaps we have just gotten used to the normally surprising events since we seek them out and deal with patterns such as these so often. Do you find that to be true, Sam?"

Of course, there wasn't an answer, but Cas didn't take it personally, and continued talking, asking questions that Sam wasn't yet able to answer. When Dean had been in the hospital the month prior, it hadn't escaped Cas' notice that he seemed just slightly more stable whenever Sam was in the room, let alone if he were talking or not. Cas knew it would be the same in this situation, but unfortunately, the brothers couldn't be moved to be in the same room together, and Cas couldn't be in two places at once.

As soon as he was allowed, he would go see Dean, which the unconscious man would probably object to and tell him to 'get his ass back over and watch Sam', which of course Sam would then refute and send him back over to Dean. It was a comforting thought, at least, and Cas hoped it would be one to come true in the very near future.

Cas had continued talking, and while thinking at the same time, his eyes had drifted to the machines by Sam's bed. They didn't show a major change in the numbers on the screens, but when the angel turned his eyes back to Sam, the younger hunter was blearily looking back at him. It was immediately clear that he wasn't quite all there, given the medication and painkillers, but just seeing his eyes open was a relief.

"Sam?" He stopped his tirade of talking and shifted slightly closer to the bed.

"Hey," Sam eventually got out, and even in his whispered tone Cas could hear the damage done by the smoke Sam had been exposed to. "Cas?"

The angel nodded. "It's me." He then held out a hand as soon as Sam opened his mouth to say something more. "You're in the hospital, the doctors said you will make a full recovery. The spirit is dealt with, and the sheriff is alive," he summarized as briefly as he could. Sam's eyes scanned the rest of the room, vaguely looking for the one figure who was always present but this time was absent. The heart monitor picked up an increased number of beeps.

"Dean is alive," Cas assured quickly, hearing the panic in the younger Winchester. "He is still unconscious, being treated for head trauma, but he is alright, Sam." It took a minute or so, but Sam's pulse gradually got down to a normal level, and he sagged back against the bed. Cas would give him more details on Dean's condition later, when Sam himself was not in such a vulnerable state.

Sam nodded ever so slightly and closed his eyes again. Cas thought he was about to go back to sleep, but a few seconds later they blinked back open, as if he were trying to get them focused and back to normal as quickly as possible. Cas used the few moments to push the call button next to the bed, as he had been instructed to do when Sam was fully awake.

Monica came in shortly after, and smiled widely upon seeing her patient finally conscious for the first time in almost a day. She took down a few numbers, asked Sam a few simple questions, which he answered in a similar simple fashion, and, pleased with the results, she left the room. When Monica returned, she handed Cas a cup of ice chips and a spoon and situated Sam's bed so he would be more comfortable sitting up.

With the promise to return in half an hour or so, she again left to check on the other patients and update the information.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, and gave the younger man a spoonful of ice chips. With his hands bandaged, Sam couldn't quite do it himself, but Cas could tell that he appreciated it.

"Good…chest hurts," Sam said shortly. His breaths weren't quite even and it sounded like he could cough at any time, but he was breathing under his own power, which Cas had been told was a good sign.

"Smoke inhalation. You were in the building the longest, but I've been assured that there won't be any long term affects. Some short term, getting back on your feet, but nothing extremely serious. I used some of my grace to heal your and Dean's burns…it hasn't recharged enough to be of more assistance," Cas answered in more detail, since Sam seemed more alert.

Sam looked like he processed it for a few seconds, hopefully he'd retain some of the information, before he slightly nodded. "Thanks, Cas." He looked to the angel with the smallest quirk of a smile. Cas guessed he would have said more if he was stronger, but after spending so much time with the Winchesters, he had begun to understand the hidden meanings behind a supposedly simple thank you.

Nevertheless, Cas shrugged and passed Sam another spoonful. "I'm glad I can help, no matter how little it may be." Burns and cuts he could manage, but nothing like Dean's condition.

Little snippets of conversation went back and forth, usually with one or two word answers from Sam, which was fine with Cas, so long as he was up and attempting to communicate and not still unconscious. He set the cup on the bedside table when it had been emptied and Sam leaned back against the pillows.

Monica came back after the promised half hour, and was happy to see Sam still up, though his eyes had started to droop again with the aftereffects of the medication running through his system.

"You're doing really well, Sam," she praised with a smile on her face as she jotted down a few things, and then paused in the room with the pen in her hand. "Dr. Thompson told me to tell you that they're sending Dean for another scan, but you can see him for a few minutes if you'd like, they have him relatively stable now."

Any tiredness was wiped from Sam's face as Cas looked back at him, unsure as to if he should really leave Sam alone. Then again, he was improving and would probably doze off soon after Cas left or returned with news. Any doubts he still had were tossed aside when Sam nodded to him. "Go," he instructed. It was clearly evident that Sam was wishing he could go as well, but he definitely wasn't up for it yet.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Cas replied. Monica had moved to the door, and Cas paused for just a second longer to reassure himself that Sam would in fact be alright if he left for ten minutes, before following her out.


	36. Chapter 36

_Happy Sunday! I've officially completed my first two weeks of college, that's why this chapter is so late, oops, things have been a bit crazy recently, and I'm just now starting to get a handle on things. But seriously, thanks so much for all your patience, it means a lot! I hope you guys like the chapter! And sorry about the never-ending cliffhangers, it's just naturally where my ideas stop._

 _Special massive thanks to_ _ImpalaLove, ThornsHaveRoses, VegasGranny, TXKimsonFan, mak2018, Guest, and Celtic Knot for their reviews! Each one helps keep this story moving :)_

 _I still don't own Supernatural, but we're about a month away from the season 14 premiere, oh boy. I put up a short little tag to the season 13 finale yesterday, called Deliverance, so if anybody's looking for some Jody and Sam hurt/comfort, head on over ;)_

* * *

Monica led Cas to another section of the hospital where the ICU was located, and stopped in front of a door that was partially open. "I know, you probably saw this before when he was like this, but remember, it's all just wires and tubing that's helping keep him alive," Monica reminded kindly.

Cas had seen it all before, but that didn't make it any easier the second time around, and being by himself in the room this time wasn't helping anything. Still, just helpful bits of wires and tubing served to put things into a more manageable perspective, and he nodded his thanks before he stepped in.

The room was much like the one in New York, with the same types of equipment if he had to guess as to their function. IV, monitors, electrodes…yes, lots of wires and tubing. Cas didn't take the chair off to the side, and instead stepped closer to the bed, being mindful of all the machinery.

Dean's arms were visibly wrapped lighter than Sam's, but the bandages went up further, since he had decided to take his jacket off back at the graveyard. His head was lightly wrapped as well, in a similar fashion to how it had been before. No matter how he looked, Dean was still breathing, and Cas knew that counted for a lot.

Cas then became mindful of the fact that he was just standing in the room staring at Dean, and not doing anything else. He recalled being told that coma patients could possibly hear, and Sam had been talking to him the month prior when he was in this state. Sam would probably be talking to him now, saying whatever he could to ensure Dean that he wasn't alone and that everything was alright.

"Hello, Dean," he greeted, and was not met by any sort of reply. "Sam is…doing fine, I thought I should tell you. He is receiving care in a separate room, and wanted to come see you but was not allowed, so I am here instead. He will make a full recovery." Dean would of course be asking about Sam and his little brother's state, so Cas made sure to get it out of the way as soon as possible. It was much like the conversation he had shared with Sam, assuring one brother, even while unconscious, that the other was safe was the best way Cas knew to currently help the situation.

"There were no casualties at the police station, we were successful," he also mentioned, though the feeling of victory was definitely squashed. "We are all just…waiting, watching, hoping you return again. The doctors say your scans are looking more worrisome, but I believe that you are still fighting. Something along the lines of…as you would say, 'it takes more than two comatose states in a month to kill a Winchester'. Would I be correct in your argument?"

Again, there was nothing. Cas let out a sigh, unsure of what to say next, and after a moment he reached up his fingers and gently pressed them to the other man's forehead. There were no outlying injuries that he needed to heal that wouldn't be able to heal by themselves, and he couldn't sense anything else amiss. It was a bit strange, but not worrisome, and so he chalked it up to his powers not being able to heal something as complex as the trillions of neural pathways that made up the human brain.

A few minutes passed while he was waiting for some sort of a sign from Dean before he remembered that the hunter needed to be taken for a scan and he should be getting back to Sam. "I'll be sitting with Sam, someone will notify me when you wake up, I'm sure, I just hope for all of our sakes that is it soon." He knew the probability of patients surviving with all their mental faculties intact drastically decreased as the days went on, he had read all the reports last time. If there was any light of hope during the second time, it was the fact that Dean had gotten through it once before.

He cast the older Winchester one more glance before he stepped back outside the room. Monica was in the hallway, talking in quiet tones to another woman, the paramedic Cas has met a few days ago, Masie. They spotted him coming out of the room, halted their conversation, and greeted him with similar smiles.

"Cas, this is Masie, my sister, I'm pretty sure you guys met, she helped bring the brothers in," Monica re-introduced more formally.

"Of course. It is good to see you again, Masie," Cas replied genuinely, to which she nodded.

"Likewise. Monica was just catching me up on how they were doing, it's not every day you get two mysterious brothers out of a fire, after all."

Cas, of course, understood the implications. "And you two are sisters, both in the same field in the same hospital?" he clarified, to which Masie nodded and nudged Monica a little with her elbow.

"In all fairness I was here first, she was just following in her big sister's footsteps-"

"Technically we have different jobs…"

"Same field, same hospital, you heard the man," Masie retorted jokingly and it had both women smiling. "What can I say, it's the family business, no matter how cheesy that sounds, you know?"

Cas nodded. He knew, probably better than most, what the 'family business' could entail, though his experience with it had been more dangerous, but probably just about as bloody in a different sense as the sister's. He vaguely wondered if to some degree, Masie had a similar connection to Monica as did the brothers. It would certainly justify her worry over the situation, and heighten her ability to empathize.

"I do know, yes," he answered, and after a few seconds, figured he could elaborate ever so slightly to maybe dispel some of the 'mystery' for the women that had done so much to help. "Sam and Dean followed in their father's footsteps, continuing their own family business, picking up odd jobs, it made them very close. They're good men, they've helped many people."

 _More than you'll ever be able to comprehend,_ he thought but didn't say out loud.

"Sam saved Sheriff Matthews, that definitely counts for something," Masie nodded to herself.

"These jobs…if you don't mind me asking, they're not all that safe?" Monica asked slowly, as if she already knew the answer. Cas inclined his head for her to continue. "The scars on both of them, I mean. Sam's are barely healed, Dean's got his fair share too. They can't all be from these 'odd jobs', right?"

Cas sighed. "They are, and as you said, they aren't safe. But they help people that need helping, and fix things that need fixing, and some people unfortunately find problems with that," he figured was a good way to leave it. At least most of the injuries had been patched up so they hadn't left scars, or angelic healing or rebuilding over the years had washed a few of the older ones away. Still, he was glad the injuries hadn't raised more questions than those posed by a nurse that obviously cared for their well-beings.

"Dean's definitely the older brother," Masie mentioned, almost to herself, and then it was Monica's turn to look her way for answers, since Dean had yet to regain consciousness and act as a normal older brother would. "The way he was covering Sam when the team found them, it was obvious, super protective. You don't just happen to fall like that over someone else when a building is coming down."

"They are very close," Cas nodded in affirmation. "Dean is often the 'mother hen', as Sam says," he said with a slight smile, after adding air quotes to the phrase.

"What would you do if a building collapsed on me?" Monica asked, but there wasn't much seriousness in her tone. It was more jokingly probing, Cas had heard the brothers use such a tone on many occasions.

"Depends on what you did to get into said collapsing building and if you dragged me in with you or followed Mark in or something," Masie answered and shrugged.

Monica looked offended, though Cas soon realized it was just facial expressions she was using to continue the banter. "I wouldn't follow Mark into a collapsing building-"

"You would, trying to pull his sorry ass out of the fire while he went in with the camera trying to interview the walls."

Monica was silent for another moment before she laughed and shook her head. "Fine, fine, whatever."

"Should the situation ever arise with a collapsing building, we'll find out," Masie amended, and Monica seemed to approve.

The slight banter was so reminiscent of the Winchester brothers, the Nixon sisters had to be close in their own rights as well. Cas watched them fondly, wondering how their relationship had developed, since he knew not all siblings got along quite so well later in life, let alone following in adjacent professions.

Monica looked down at her watch and excused herself to take Dean down for his scan, and Masie led Cas away from the room, offering to walk him back to Sam's.

"You two are also very close," he observed when they had turned down another hallway.

Masie was still smiling a little as she nodded. "Small town, not many other kids to play with and all that, we're lucky to have each other. Don't get me wrong, she can be a pain, and I'm probably one to her," she jerked her head over her shoulder a little in the direction they had just come from, "but I don't want to share this job, this hospital, with anyone else. I'm happy she joined me here."

It was clear just by her tone that she was genuinely pleased with how things has turned out.

"I'm glad things worked out this way for the two of you," he offered with a slight smile of his own, and they stopped a few doors down from Sam's room.

"It'll work out for them, too, somehow, it'll just take time," Masie assured, even though she had no real way of knowing, and Cas appreciated the reassurance.

"I hope so," Cas sighed.

Masie smiled back, and then went to go 'prep some things'. Cas took a moment in the hallway and then walked into Sam's room. The younger Winchester was asleep against the pillows, apparently having lost his fight against the medication and his remaining injuries. Cas was glad Sam had done so, he needed his rest, especially if they were to try and deal with whatever was coming up ahead.

Cas reinstated his vigil by the Winchester's bedside, ready to fill him in on Dean and the Nixon sisters when he woke up, and hoping that they would be met with some good news in the coming hours.

* * *

 _"Is there something you can do?"_

 _Billie sure took her time in answering, and it was starting to get on Dean_ _'s nerves. Apparently she needed him alive, but not bad enough to avoid toying with him ever so slightly. Every second he wasted stuck in his own head was a second his body was deteriorating and Cas and Sam's worry was growing. She must have already had some sort of plan in mind, or there would have been more urgency to the situation._

 _"_ _It seems like today's your lucky day, Winchester, someone's pulling you out of the fire, just so happens I'm slated to do it here."_

 _Dean was ready to go, immediately. He was ready to get out of the house that had been in the back of his mind for the past month, he was ready to get back to normal. But she didn_ _'t seem to be in any sort of immediate rush, which somewhat contradicted her reasoning for the whole thing. "Well, let's get to it then. Fix me up, I'll be out of here and kicking werewolves back where they belong in no time." He would've clapped his hands, but it seemed like just a bit too much emphasis._

 _"_ _It won't be an immediate process, Dean," was all the said, and damnit, that took some of the excitement out of the situation._

 _"_ _What do you mean? Reapers are some sort of degree of angel, right? Can't you just fix whatever's wrong up here," he pointed to his head, "and I can get a move on? Or hell, just give me my memories back?"_

 _Billie let out a breathy chuckle._ _"You expected it to be that simple? I'd just snap my fingers and you'd be back?" She crossed her arms in front of her and looked at him in mock amusement._

 _Dean shrugged ever so slightly._ _"Something like that," he admitted, and his shoulders fell when she shook her head._

 _"_ _Reapers don't heal, Dean, not really, and we certainly don't deal directly in memories. We take life or we resurrect it. Today, you fall into the latter category." When she saw that he still wasn't completely following, (he hadn't dealt with many reapers in what he remembered, alright? let alone this one who seemed to have some sort of personal annoyance with him) she tried to elaborate._

 _"_ _Instead of a magic, instantaneous action, think of what we do as a way of giving and taking life by fixing a problem or allowing one to complete its course. In this sense I'm fixing a problem."_

 _"_ _Fixing a problem…but the problem doesn't go away the second your mojo does its thing?" Dean raised an eyebrow._

 _"_ _In a sense, yes," she nodded. "What I do will fix some of the damage, which should prompt your neurons to begin firing in the areas they haven't been, which should gradually give you back your memories."_

 _Dean didn_ _'t like all the 'should's' in that sentence, not one bit. It still sounded like there was a lot of space where something could go wrong._

 _"_ _What I'm giving you is a way to get back to your normal life, no matter how many memories return with it. You need to continue on the path you and your family were set on, Dean, no matter how this ends."_

 _"_ _You don't know how well this will work," Dean surmised. He was liking this less and less, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice in the matter. It was either this or…what? Sit around in an empty house he had almost called a home and wait for something else to do him in?_

 _"_ _This isn't exactly a common occurrence, Dean, in the majority of cases people are left to their own devices, whatever that may be. You just happen to have the privilege of being needed by the better part of the universe."_

 _Dean scoffed at that. Yeah, like the universe had done much for him in return._

 _"_ _So you 'fix' the damage, my brain rebuilds itself, I may or may not remember everything, and then it's back to me and Sam and Cas on the road jamming out to Seger?"_

 _"_ _In simple terms, yes," Billie nodded, and her arms uncrossed from in front of her. She took a few steps closer, not making any sound on the floor underneath her, and came to a stop right in front of Dean._

 _Dean would_ _'ve taken a minute to think it over, but again, there wasn't much of a choice here. "Let's do it," he eventually said, and stood up straighter. His eyes went from Billie's face to the cork board on the kitchen wall behind her, where the altered photographs were._

 _"_ _In order for this to work, for everyone's sake, you need to let them go, all of them," she reminded. He couldn't detect any annoyance in her tone, which was definitely a shift. Maybe, in some strange way, she felt for him? No, that couldn't be it. Him hanging onto this was getting in the way of hers and the universe's plan, that was it, it was just another hurdle he had to cross to get back on track._

 _It was the way she said_ _'all of them' that got him though. It wasn't just Lisa and Ben then, it was Bobby and Charlie and everyone else they had lost that he couldn't even remember yet. In order to keep moving, he had to get back to normal, which meant dealing with what had happened, and accepting it. He had been functioning with the memories, which meant he'd be fine once he got them back. Yeah, Dean Winchester was a pro at accepting things, he figured whatever he remembered, it would be dealt with without a hitch. Yeah, right._

 _"_ _They're alive, right? Lisa and Ben?" he had to check, even though Sam had told him as much, and there was no being better to ask than a reaper._

 _"_ _They are," Billie said simply, and Dean let out a breath, if he was even breathing while stuck inside his own head. He nodded slightly, looking back to her before he closed his eyes._

 _He didn_ _'t ask if it would hurt, he had imagined it would probably feel unpleasant, not like when Cas had healed him in the past, but probably not much worse. He was wrong, very, very wrong._

 _Her fingers were light as they touched to his forehead, and under their slight pressure, he was pretty sure his head began to crack open. He didn_ _'t know what was happening to his outside, physical body, but trapped inside his own exploding head, he was screaming._


	37. Chapter 37

_I may have underestimated how much work biology labs on top of honors classes are...oh well, moving right along, thanks to everyone, again and as always, for sticking with this through the random update schedule. We're nearing the end of the story, trying to keep things moving right along!_

 _Huge, gigantic thank you to ThornsHaveRoses, VegasGranny, Guest, TXKimsonFan, DearHart, tyrsibs, mak2018, 19agbrown, and ImpalaLove for your reviews and support. This chapter, 100k words in, got the same amount of feedback as the first chapter, and I am so grateful that this far in people still leave comments. I keep them in my email until I post the next chapter, just for the days when writer's block or school stress has got me down, they're reminders to keep doing what I'm doing because at least a few people would like to see it finished. Thank you :)_

 _A week and a half until season 14. If I owned the show, we'd have more than a 30 second trailer, but I don't run things, unfortunately. But I do have to say, Jensen in his 'Peaky Blinders' outfit already has me super hyped._

* * *

It took two more days before Sam was able to get around the room without getting too winded. The doctor had said that it was normal with smoke inhalation injuries, it would take some time for things to get back to normal, and that Sam should go easy in that time. Sam wasn't too keen on taking it easy though, not with Dean stuck in a room in a separate area of the hospital and he hadn't yet been in to see him.

The last scan had come back worse, and over the past few days Dean still hadn't shown signs of waking. Cas was trying to be hopeful, as was everyone else, but Sam could tell it was fading…ever so slightly, but the diminishment was still visible. Somewhere in his head, Sam figured if he could just get in there and talk to Dean, things would right themselves. Even though it made no logical sense, he knew he was getting in there sooner or later. The only problem there was that he hadn't been allowed to visit Dean yet on account of his lungs not being able to propel him around the room enough times to warrant going outside, down the hall, up an elevator, and down another hall.

He understood the implications behind it, he really did, and he was being a hypocrite considering how many times he'd chastised Dean for not listening to a doctor's orders, but sue him, he was worried and Dean's life was on the line.

"Cas?" he finally voiced halfway through the day. His throat was still raw, but it had improved. It would take a while to get the smoke out of his nose though, even though he knew that none still resided.

Cas turned from the television on the wall they had been watching to pass the time. "Yes, Sam?" He looked tired. Going between two hospitalized family members would probably do that to a person, and Sam vastly appreciated the updates he couldn't get himself.

"Need to see Dean," Sam cut right to the chase. Cas only sighed and shook his head. They'd been through it a few times already, but Sam hadn't been this determined before, it had been long enough.

"You know what the staff advised, Sam, I can go check on him again if they'll allow," the angel offered and then it was Sam's turn to shake his head.

"Thanks…but I need to see him myself. I just…" he didn't have a better explanation. They'd been over all this before.

With a sigh, Cas finally nodded his head. "I understand," he acquiesced, and got closer to the bed so he could give Sam a hand in getting up. He had been able to help with the burns in a mild capacity, but Sam's arms and hands were still wrapped in gauze to ensure they healed properly.

The angel had just reached down to give Sam a hand up when Monica walked into the room, clipboard in hand, and caught them like two children with their hands in a cookie jar.

She checked her watch, as if she had been wrong about something, and looked at them, a bit confused. "It's not time for PT yet, Sam, mind me asking where you two are headed?"

"Change of scenery," Sam tried, while Cas remained silent in front of him. Chances were, Monica knew exactly where they had been headed, but she didn't quite let on.

"You're not supposed to be mobile without supervision, not with your levels still recovering. And you're especially not supposed to be visiting patients in other floors without approval."

Sam opened his mouth to explain, but she only sighed and muttered something to herself before she put the clipboard down on the bed. "Don't go anywhere, alright?" she said, obviously expecting to be listened to, and walked out of the room.

"I assume she is…coming back shortly?" Cas surmised after a few seconds had passed, and Sam nodded as such. Sure enough, a few minutes later Monica came back, pushing an empty wheelchair in front of her.

Sam didn't like the look of it, not one bit, being pushed around, injured, having no control, it was like a combination of everything he didn't like about a given situation. But before he could say he was fine, that he could manage, Monica held up a hand.

"Policy, this or nothing." She was a kind young woman, but Sam could tell just from her expression that when the safety of her patients was concerned, she wasn't moving. He slowly nodded, not putting up any argument (vaguely wondering how Dean would have reacted in the scenario, he hated the wheeled contraptions even more than Sam), and was eventually seated in said chair.

Monica pushed him out of the room, Cas following behind, and down another hallway where she pushed the button for the elevator and waited for it to arrive.

"I don't want you to think I don't get it," she eventually said once they were inside and the doors had closed. Sam couldn't see her, given their position, but still listened. "Because I do. If Masie were hurt…I'd want to see her. But I also know that she'd tell me to keep my butt in bed and heal before I worried about her. From what Cas has said, I imagine Dean would say a similar thing."

Sam smiled vaguely at the thought. "Probably with a bit more colorful language," he agreed before the elevator doors opened and she took them both to Dean's room. But Sam also knew that Dean, ever the hypocrite, wouldn't take his own advice whenever Sam was involved. Where health was concerned, it should have been a two-way street, but Dean was as stubborn and protective as they came, and it was probably partly the reason why Sam was awake and alive to even check on Dean. If only he'd wake up so Sam could say thanks and his older brother could berate him for starting another chick flick moment inside a freaking hospital of all places.

"I'll give you a few minutes, you're really not supposed to strain yourself, Sam, and infection is not on the list of things you want right now," Monica reminded as she stopped the chair next to his brother's bed.

 _Dean waking up and being alright would be at the top of that list if he had one._

"I hear you," he replied honestly because he did. He didn't want to make their jobs even more hell on them, but this was something he needed to do.

"Hit the call button if you need anything," Monica pointed to it, making sure Cas saw it also, and left the room.

"Would you like a minute?" Cas asked after the room had quieted, save for the monitors and other machines. All it took was a slight nod from Sam and the angel had left, saying something about going to get a coffee, which he didn't drink and at the moment Sam couldn't have. At least his excuses were getting better.

And Dean…he was getting really tired of seeing him in hospital beds. These past few months Dean had spent more time in a hospital bed than in the rest of his life combined, which was saying something, all the one night trips and early morning break-outs combined. Though, motel room triages probably took the top spot for most used medical care area.

"You've gotta stop doing this, man," it came out quiet and hoarse, even though his voice had been improving over the past few days. "There's no record for most amount of comas in the shortest time span." He's trying to lighten the situation, he pleaded with Dean last time only to have them end up in the same situation over again. Now, he's not sure what to say.

 _Awh, come on, you don't know that for sure, Sam. You were always more of an academic reader, would it kill you to pick up a world records book and actually check your facts?_

He could almost hear Dean's mocking tone, but it didn't bring a smile to his face. He knew the statistics, he'd heard about the results, about the decrease in brain activity, and again he was helpless to do anything about it other than sit back and watch. Actual healers were minuscule in number, and on the off chance that any were angels with a grudge to settle, Sam didn't want to send up the bat signal. Plus, if it went anything like the first time, Dean would actually kill him.

But Dean, being the self-sacrificing, protective, couldn't kill him until he actually woke up first, and if he didn't wake up because again he'd been stepping into help Sam…he didn't know if he'd be able to play through.

"I swear, the second we get out of the hospital, I'm sending Cas for bubble wrap."

 _Even as a joke, Sammy, that's lame. You gonna wrap me up like a freaking ball and pop all the little bubbles like some demented form of stress relief? Pass._

Sam sighed, the movement strained. "The universe isn't about to end…and still, here we are." The Winchesters, breaks just weren't a part of their lives so it seemed. "But you got through it once, you'll get through it again, and we'll fix it just like we did last time."

Fixing it would definitely mean no hunts, actually making sure everyone got their rest, making sure Dean felt like he was really doing something, keeping them occupied…they'd figure it out. If Dean's condition ended up meaning he really couldn't hunt again, they'd take it in stride and he'd eventually convince Dean to more or less accept it.

Sam must have been thinking and talking longer than he thought, because soon after, Cas came in, not with coffee, but with a plastic cup and lid.

"They advised that tea may be a good substitute until you are back to one hundred percent," he explained, and passed off the drink when Sam reached up for it and smiled.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, and took a sip. It wasn't as good as coffee, mind you, but it was a good change. "Just feels like we're back to square one, you know? All the memories, all the explaining, and here we are again," he answered Cas' unsaid question.

"You have a habit of getting into…sticky situations, as you would say, but yes. The unfortunate repetition is a lot to handle," the angel sighed in a similar fashion.

Sam nodded silently in agreement, his eyes still trained on Dean, whose head was once again in a bandage, and hands still wrapped similar to Sam's own. "I know you can't heal, but can you, I don't know, sense anything?" Sam tried. Anything that may give them a clue to bringing Dean back around, or helping in some small fashion.

Cas didn't say anything. He took a step closer to the bed, closed his eyes, and pressed two fingers to Dean's head. The angel was still for a moment before his eyes screwed ever so slightly.

"Cas?" Sam sat up a bit straighter in the chair, unsure if the movement was for something good or bad.

"Something is…different," he started quietly, and released his fingers and opened his eyes to look back at Sam. "I'm not sure what, but something has transpired, his mind is not in the same state it was before."

"And that's good, bad, what?" Sam pressed, but it was clear to him that even Cas was confused, struggling to put what he had sensed into terms that they could both understand.

Before he could do so, something physical shifted and the beeps on the heart monitor began to speed up. They only had a few seconds before Dean's body on the bed began to convulse and Sam found himself yelling for help.

* * *

 _The screaming and the pain stopped almost as soon as Dean opened his eyes again. The first thing that struck him was that he was sitting at a table. Okay, not him him, but some version of him. He was watching himself, and other events transpire, from outside himself. It was freaky, no question about it, and he was immediately confused. The hell was this? Billie had done her little thing, and he had expected to wake up. Looking at himself, stuffing pizza into his face, that definitely wasn't the case, not at all._

 _Cas was at the end of the table, playing one of those folded paper choosing games with a redhead. It took Dean a moment to place her as Charlie, and when he did, he felt a pang in his chest. This was different than the nightmare he had of her weeks ago. This was clear, sharp, he was watching himself in it. This was a memory, and he was watching it play out._

 _His other self seemed to be having a pretty good time, watching as Cas and Charlie went about their business. Sam was seated next to her, smiling through it, but it was obvious to Dean that there was something more going on behind his brother_ _'s poorly put up facade. So the situation wasn't quite as happy as it looked to be. Right, that fit the picture with their lives pretty damn perfectly._

 _"_ _Not much with you guys is what it seems to be."_

 _Dean spun around, certain no one at the table had said it, since it was a memory and it certainly wouldn_ _'t make sense for the memory to be answering his internal thoughts._

 _"_ _Think of it as half memory, half your subconscious, both of them starting to kick around all sorts of dust."_

 _There was no one behind him, and just to be sure, he ducked into the furthest hallway. Nope, no one. But when he turned back to the table, Sam and Cas were gone. Charlie was still sitting there, toying with the paper device, but then she looked up and made direct eye contact with him._

 _Nope, not a memory._

 _"_ _Hey, Dean," she greeted with a smile, and gestured for him to sit down._

 _Dean, however, stood stock still at the edge of the kitchen._ _"The hell is this?" he was honestly getting tired of his mind throwing random crap at him and this, some…talk from a woman he didn't even know-_

 _"_ _But you do know me, Dean. Down to my tattoos." Her smile faded abruptly as she tried to cover it up. "Not like that, gosh not like that, I meant in a descriptive sense with the Princess Leia and the Comic-Con and the dice and the…you remember."_

 _Dean was about to open his mouth to say, no, he most certainly did not, but it filtered back to him, like looking through a window that had been frosted over._ "I was drunk, it was Comic-Con." _And the phone conversation that had come with it. It was right there for him. Sure, it was odd to try and get a handle on, but it was there._

 _"_ _What Billie did…it worked?" he said slowly, and took a few steps over to her._

 _"_ _Mhm," Charlie hummed. "But it's not tossing you back out into a sea with just your memories and no life preserver, your brain would probably fry more than it already had, literally, from the info dump you would get."_

 _Okay, that made sense, Billie had said as much. But then why-_

 _"_ _Am I here, coaching you through it?"_

 _"_ _Would you stop doing that? The finishing my thoughts thing, super weird," Dean cut in before she could say anything else._

 _Charlie looked down at the table sheepishly. But it wasn_ _'t even Charlie, it was some of Dean's weird subconscious giving him a lesson on how to deal with what Billie had let loose. He was essentially talking to himself. Yeah, no, totally normal._

 _"_ _Sorry. It's just when you're made up of the same stuff, hard not to finish other thoughts. Of course, I'm your subconscious' projection of what you remember me to be, though why I'm here and somebody else isn't, I have no idea," she shrugged._

 _"_ _So why this memory lead-in, what's up with that?" He finally took a seat across from Charlie and she looked at him, a bit amused._

 _Charlie tapped her head._ _"It's all up here, genius, you've just gotta look for it. It helps to have a prompt or something so you know what to look for, the rest should come back gradually, hopefully not like a tidal wave, imagine that in your head, no thank you."_

 _Dean had only slightly tuned her out to do what she had instructed. It was more of a feeling this time, since the memory had already been provided. A sense that for the moment things were alright, but something was brewing and about to turn very bad. Underneath it all was a thrumming anger, and he found himself looking at his right arm out of instinctual habit, which triggered something else._

 _The Mark, it was when he had the Mark, and it was before Sam gave the book to Rowena, before they tried to get the Mark off, before the Steins, before Charlie_ _…_

 _Even inside his own head, pain started building in it._

 _"_ _Told ya not to go searching for too much at once. Brain feel fried yet?"_

 _"_ _Getting there," Dean muttered, and let the fragments slip away from his fingers, but he still retained them, somewhere deep down._

 _She waited until he had gained some sense of composure before she continued._ _"Bad things always happen, Dean, you know that a lot better than like ninety-five percent of people. But you and Sam and Castiel, you guys save people from the bad things, and eventually good times come along too. Little things, like drinking beer and watching movies and answering Cas' questions about said movies."_

 _"_ _This another lesson in letting stuff go that I'll soon remember is already gone?" he raised an eyebrow, to which she nodded. Even then, sitting in front of her, talking to her, it was comforting in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on._

 _"_ _Pretty much. A lot of people are gone, but a lot are alive because of what you guys do. And for those of us that are gone…it wasn't all bad, getting to know you boys."_

 _"_ _But it's not you saying that, how…?"_

 _Charlie shrugged a little._ _"Deep down, you knew. Most past it, onto the next adventure, right? Han Solo didn't give up after he'd been stuck in carbonite, he got back up and helped kick the Empire's ass," she said, looking fairly proud of herself and determined in her reference, so much so that Dean let out a breathy chuckle._

 _"_ _Right," he said, faint smirk on his lips._

 _"_ _Now," Charlie leaned forward onto her elbows, "go save the galaxy, just don't fly too fast."_


	38. Chapter 38

_It seems like every single chapter I'm apologizing for a longer wait...oops! Midweek update because I didn't want you to wait any longer. I planned to get this up last week, but it ended up just not being a good week emotionally or mentally, and one of my midterms changed dates to coincide with a few other things, so this got pushed back unfortunately. However, midterms are done and it's back to the normal level of work! I promise you guys, no matter how long it takes, this story WILL be finished. We're definitely in the final 10% or so of it now, I can't imagine it going more than a few more chapters, but we'll see. So thank you guys, so much honestly, for continuing to stick with this story. Just a reminder, any little comment truly helps, I read them all back when last week got tough, and they made me smile :)_

 _Alright, since it's been almost a month, I still don't own Supernatural, but now that season 14 has started airing, any thoughts? Added note: if you haven't checked out Peaky Blinders, just look up some pictures, Jensen would fit right in, you're welcome._

* * *

"Dean, can you hear me?"

A bright light passed in front of his eyes, and Dean reflexively tried to shut them again. It almost immediately send a jolt through his head, which he was pretty surprised hadn't been liquified by then.

"Heart rate's up and normal, oxygen levels increasing."

"Dean, you with us?"

Again, with the light, would they just freaking stop already, yes he was with them, whoever they were. And he was guessing he was finally outside his own head, hearing other people milling around and various beeps and mechanic noises around him. He would've sat up, or done something more visible to show that he was indeed conscious, but his body wasn't liking the mental thrashing it had gotten. In some twisted way, he wondered if it was what robots felt like when they got rebooted. Everything was horribly fuzzy, which was probably all the drugs they had him doped up on, which he absolutely hated.

"Dean?"

But he wasn't so doped up and out of his head to not recognize his little brother's voice from somewhere other than right next to his bedside. If Sam wasn't right there, it meant something had probably happened, and something not good. Hell, if that wasn't the push he needed.

It wasn't much, but a slight voluntary crack open of his eyelids and a low groan was enough to make the nurse above him sigh in relief.

"Voluntary response," she noted, probably to some other medical person in the room. "Any chance you could keep those eyes open, Dean?"

Sure, no problem, other than the fact that they weighed a metric ton. He couldn't see much through the cracked lids, just fuzzy shapes amongst a white background, a figure next to him, and a few blobs of color standing in front of a darker spot, a doorway. Sam and Cas, he'd bet money on it.

So yeah, Dean freaking Winchester opened his eyes because he had no idea what the hell was going on, Sam and Cas were watching, and he really didn't want to get blinded with that stupid penlight again. It took a few seconds for the image to actually sharpen up, and two more blinks later, he was more aware of what was going on.

Sam and Cas were indeed standing in the doorway, the angel supporting his brother who looked to be breathing much too heavily, even though Dean was a fair distance away.

He opened his mouth ever so slightly to try and greet them, but the distinct 'fuzzy' feeling persisted, and he closed it again. Though, just that small movement in itself seemed to have made his brother fairly happy, as he broke into a smile before he quickly started coughing.

A nurse was on him before Dean had the chance to say, attempt to say, anything else. She said a few words, which Dean couldn't hear, and Sam apparently tried to refute, until Cas stepped in. More words were exchanged that Dean couldn't hear over the beeping, and Sam cast him another glance before he was reluctantly led from the room by one of the nurses.

Dean groaned again, wanting to know what was going on. Another nurse, a blonde, checking the computer screens or whatever they were by the bed, moved a step closer.

"Your brother's being treated for smoke inhalation, but he'll be fine, he just needs to sit back down," she filled in rather quickly, seemingly being able to read Dean's mind, which he was extremely grateful for. "Now, can you squeeze for me?" she asked, placing her index finger where Dean would be able to grasp it.

Would be able to be, that was the important part of that sentence. His fingers lightly brushed against hers, but couldn't quite get the whole squeezing thing down. Not yet, everything was still too fuzzy. He loved pain medication, until he hated it. Head injuries he just plain hated.

"Motor control is decreased, but looks to be improving, see if Denise is in yet, we'll get him in for another CT to make sure nothing bad triggered this," she directed to a woman standing off to the side with a clipboard.

"We'll get you back up on your feet in no time, Dean," she added with a smile. Something about it, and what had transpired with Billie, made Dean wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was possible.

* * *

After a few more little exercises, they deemed that Dean was alert enough, and apparently very strangely so, that he could go down for the scan. While he didn't really appreciate being stuck inside half a donut while moving parts and lasers (he'd have to ask Sam the mechanics behind how one of them actually worked later) and whatever took pictures of his brain. It didn't take long, which he was grateful for, and by the time they took him out of the room, he was feeling more like himself.

He was bone-weary, sure, but he felt more…in control, less fuzzy. If that was the medication being tapered off or his brain healing itself, he really didn't have an idea. But he passed the second finger squeeze test with flying colors and while the nurse, Monica, he learned, was confused by his one-eighty turnaround, she was happy nonetheless.

Dean was placed back into the same room, Cas having been semi-awkwardly watching the television on the wall while standing up, waiting for them to return. Monica and the other nurse promised to check back in when the results finalized, and left Cas and Dean in the room.

"Bit repetitive, ain't it?" Dean asked hoarsely after a minute or so had passed, and Cas brought him a cup of water before he sat down next to the bed.

"Nevertheless, it is again good to have you back," the angel replied. It was obvious just how true that was, the slight worried smile on Cas' face being evidence of that fact. But there was something else there too.

"But…" he prompted, trying to see how much he could get with the shortest phrases possible.

Cas wrung his hands in a very human gesture, and glanced at the corner of the room for a moment, as if pondering what he was about to say. "The nurses, they are puzzled, as am I. This much improvement, in such a short time span, doesn't make medical sense. And when I tried to get a sense of what was wrong earlier, something felt…different. Did something happen?"

So much for going with short phrases. Dean shifted so he could sit up a little more, cup balanced in his hand. "It was Billie."

Cas' eyes widened at that, and fear washed over his features. "The reaper? Is that why-" he corrected himself quickly, "why did you see her, what did she want?"

"To help out, seems like. Said we were no good with me benched, universe needs us apparently," Dean said with a slight smirk. "She fixed it, Cas. Not sure how, but it feels different, clearer." He'd be able to explain in greater detail when his body recovered from the 'rebooting', yeah, that's what he'd be calling it.

Cas shifted in his seat and raised a hand. "May I?" Realizing his intentions, Dean nodded minutely, and allowed the angel to touch his forehead. There was a slight added presence, but no pain, and when Cas withdrew his hand, his features were still morphed in confusion.

"Well?"

"The block, for lack of a better word, the damaged tissue, seems to have repaired itself, and is continuing to do so."

"It's healing? Whatever she did, it's working?" he clarified, even though Cas has just said so. Billie's argument had been convincing enough, but still, there had been some small part of him wondering if it would ever actually work.

Cas nodded tightly. "Were there any conditions for what she said would happen?" he actually looked more worried as he asked the question. It figured, too, they didn't exactly have the best luck with supernatural beings just wanting to be helpful for the hell of it.

"I get fixed and get back to work, you and Sam too. Memories come back eventually as things heal up," Dean answered, expecting the tension to ease out of his shoulders, but it didn't.

"And that's all? She didn't mention anything about souls or the empty?"

"No…reaper, I get it, but nothing about that stuff," he replied quizzically. And the empty? Again, something he'd have to wait to come back, at least it would, eventually. But the way Cas phrased it…"Why you askin'?"

Cas looked up from his interlocked hands and sighed. "You were in a coma and seized. I assume it happened as a result of whatever Billie did. But afterwards…your heart stopped. They were able to bring you back, obviously, and when they did you were conscious and rapidly improving. I was concerned something else had transpired."

So he'd died. Again, not that it was exactly a new experience, but it was more disconcerting than anything else. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd done so a few more times over the years, which he was probably close to remembering.

"Just another day of the week," he smirked lightly, and though Cas didn't seem to appreciate the joke, some of the weight on the angel's shoulders seemed to ease up. "I'm good, Cas. Not goin' anywhere," Dean assured and sighed.

Cas nodded at that, and after a moment, stood back up. "I should go check on Sam," he explained.

"Sounds good," Dean agreed. He piped up again when Cas got a few steps from the door. "And Cas?" the angel turned. "Thanks." Cas smiled at that, inclined his head, and then left the room.

Dean eased himself back against the pillow, half expecting some onslaught of memories to attack him any moment. But aside from a slight pressure somewhere in his head, nothing else seemed amiss, which he was grateful for. Maybe, just maybe, his miraculous recovery and Sam's hopefully improved state meant they could head back to the bunker sooner rather than later.

* * *

Dean hadn't fallen asleep necessarily, he was just closing his eyes for a few minutes and convincing himself that things would work out. So he definitely wasn't unaware enough to not notice the slight knock at the door.

Half expecting it to be Cas, Dean opened his eyes, only to find Sam standing in the doorway. Okay, so maybe he'd had his eyes closed longer than he thought. He smiled slightly and came in as soon as he saw Dean was awake. Thankfully, Sam looked better than when Dean had gotten a glance at him, not quite as shaky.

"Hey," Sam greeted, his voice sounding just a bit whacky, which was probably an aftereffect of the fire. He sat down in the chair Cas had vacated earlier.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting?" Dean asked and arched an eyebrow. The nurses earlier had seemed pretty keen on getting Sam back to bed and under medical supervision. Then again, neither of them had ever followed said supervision well, especially when the other was in a precarious position.

"Convinced them I could take a break," Sam shrugged minutely.

Dean actually chuckled at that. Sure, 'convinced', more like probably fought and mildly threatened, that was his Sam alright.

Dean shifted so he could be sitting more upright, and caught a glance of the bandages that were still around Sam's wrists and hands, which somewhat matched his own.

"You alright?" Of course, as with every variation of the 'you okay?' question, there were multiple meanings, and Sam knew well enough to be able to decipher them all. Which was why it mildly annoyed Dean when his little brother outright ignored the biggest unspoken one.

"Yeah, Cas' healing sped up a lot, bandages should be off in two days tops, yours probably tomorrow, burns weren't as bad," Sam answered and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It wasn't a visible shift to the untrained eye, but it was enough to tell Dean that Sam was definitely avoiding the second question.

"So we can bust outta here then?" Dean smirked at the somewhat hopeful suggestion, and Sam just shrugged.

"You keep improving…two days maybe? For observation and all that."

"Not every day an amnesiac wakes from a second coma speaking in full sentences? Cas fill you in?"

Sam nodded at that, eyes turned from Dean to the bandages on his wrists which he fiddled with ever so slightly.

He'd fill Sam and Cas in with more detail later, from what he could remember, and depending on whatever came next, but there were other things to be dealt with first, namely the fact that he had apparently died _again_ in front of the only family he had left. "Go on, say it," he waved his hand in front of him in a 'come on' motion.

Sam finally looked up, confused. "Say what?"

"The big 'I told you so'? The whole 'I was right, this was stupid and look what happened'?"

Sam sighed at the fact that they were finally getting around to the second part of the question. "It was stupid, Dean," he said quietly, "but I agreed because I get it. I know why we had to get out and do something, if it wasn't this case it would've been something else. And we helped people. I just wanted, once-" he cut himself off and shook his head.

"That it wouldn't end up like this?" Dean finished without missing a beat, since he had been thinking the exact same thing.

"Yeah," Sam affirmed in a somewhat broken tone that had Dean's chest tightening ever so slightly. "I mean, how many times can we…" _die? Watch each other die? Be helpless to do anything to stop it? Sacrifice ourselves for our family or the good of the world?_ Dealer's choice.

"We should lodge a complaint or somethin' with the universe," Dean muttered in mock anger. To his credit, Sam let out a breathy laugh, which turned into a cough, before he smiled up at his brother. "Too friggin many, wish I had a better answer," he admitted, to which Sam nodded. "And I'm sorry you had to go through it all again, twice, in the past, what, month?"

"Dean," Sam warned immediately as he straightened in his seat, "none of it was your fault." Even though his apology could have been seen as being rejected by an outsider, Dean knew that Sam got what it meant. It went unspoken, just like half their conversations, and he was perfectly alright with that.

"Still…dare I say things may be getting back on track?" Sam rolled his eyes at that. "I get my brain cells back in order, we hop in Baby, drag Cas along with us, go for some Louisiana cajun food, maybe go after some sort of gypsy ghost or something? I dunno," Dean shrugged. "But we're figuring it out."

Sam only nodded in reply. Nothing else was needed. Per Billie's instructions and 'gift', and just the genetic makeup of the Winchesters, it was back to business as usual.

Under normal circumstances, Dean would have told Sam to get his butt back into bed and quit giving the nurses a hard time. He almost said it, but the way Sam kept looking at him like he'd vanish in an instant, the same way he did every time after…Dean kept his mouth closed. Because he'd looked at Sam the same way every time after he'd gotten him back.

But if Sam started having a coughing fit at his bedside, that was it, he was sending his little brother back to get some rest. But for the time being, Sam got more comfortable in the chair and flipped the channels on the television, looking for something mindless to pass the time. And of course, nerd that he was, he settled on _Empire Strikes Back,_ part of the apparent rerun going on to promote the new standalone movie. They'd have to check it out sometime.

As soon as Han Solo popped up on screen, the corners of Dean's lips turned up into a smile, and if Sam noticed, he didn't say a thing.

Cas came in not long after, grabbed another chair and watched along with them as the world slowly began to right itself.


	39. Chapter 39

_Please read the A/N at the end of the chapter. Thank you all for reading._

 _I don't own Supernatural._

* * *

 _December 31_

They were in fact released just a day later, since their burns had healed and Sam had made significant progress (with a little bit of help from Cas when the nurses weren't looking). There were no medical devices able to explain Dean's miraculous recovery, but they were all still immensely grateful for it. Monica gave them each a quick hug goodbye, possibly a few seconds longer for Sam, which Dean totally gave him an eye over and Sam returned with a tired, yet patented bitch-face. Masie came up during her break to wish them off as well, and thanks were exchanged between the brothers to the sisters for helping save both their lives.

Cas suggested they stay in the motel for the night, he'd kept it booked in advance, but one look between the three of them said that it wouldn't be necessary. The bunker wasn't that far off, and they'd stop along the way if they really needed it. Dean was, of course, happy to see that Cas had kept the Impala in working order, but he did admonish control to Sam just in case something should happen in his head that could cause the car to veer off the road.

Sam drove carefully, Dean in the passenger seat and Cas in the back, as he maneuvered the Impala away from the small town and down the less frequently travelled roads that they had been on almost their whole lives. There was a light dusting of snow across the empty road and it made the fields around them just a bit more pale than normal. The heater was turned up in the car, the rattling sound filling up the silence.

But unlike many of the silences that had preceded it, it was a comfortable silence. There would still be more adjusting to be done, but they were all where they belonged, together under the roof that had protected them from so much more than just snow over the years.

About halfway into the drive, Cas piped up. "I should call Jody, she'll be wanting to hear the news as soon as possible."

"Yeah, sounds good," Dean agreed, with Sam nodding along.

Almost as an afterthought, Cas added, "is there reception?" as he got out the device.

"Sam's here, should be," Dean smirked knowingly at his little brother.

"Dean, that's not-" Sam warned, casting him a _really?_ face, but there was no heat behind it, just good-natured bickering, the kind that had been fairly absent for too long in recent weeks.

"You pull up incident reports no matter where the hell I'm driving. We should look into that. Is it you or is Baby just a good conductor?" Dean asked, somewhat to himself, and lightly tapped the Impala's door.

"Are there tests you can do on a car that's dated pre-internet about the internet?" Sam mused, to which Dean only shrugged and let out a low chuckle.

From the backseat, Cas had the phone to his ear, which he was pleased to hear ringing, and it didn't take long for Jody to pick up. Cas put the phone on speaker and leaned so he held it in the middle of the three of them.

"Cas! Didn't hear from you yesterday, everything alright?" she went right from the introduction down to business, which made all three of them smile.

"There were developments, I am sorry for not calling you sooner."

"Well, good or bad? Don't leave me hanging." It was obvious she was still worried, so Dean answered after only a second or so had passed.

"Out of the hospital with my ducks forming a row again, I take it that's good?" he asked, and her surprised gasp on the end of the line warmed him more than the Impala's heaters could.

"Dean! It's good to hear from you again. Though I'm seriously considering giving Sam an ankle monitor to put on you for house arrest for the next few weeks."

"I'd take you up on that," Sam offered, and Dean nudged him slightly in the leg.

There was a pause. "But…you're all good? Memories, skull intact or what?"

Dean let out a sigh. "Long story, I'll fill you in next time, but to make it short, yeah, memories should start poppin' back up, I'll be back to normal in no time," he made a slight dismissive hand motion. He doubted it would be quite that simple, but hey, a tiny bit of sugarcoating for something like this was worth it. Because he'd be back to normal, memories and all, hopefully fairly soon, even if it took just a bit longer for the rest of him to really catch up. But they'd cross that bridge when he started getting to it.

"That is so, so good to hear," Jody said. The relief was clearly evident in her voice, and it made Dean even more glad that things were hopefully looking up. "And Sam? How are you?" Of course, couldn't ask about one brother without knowing about the other.

"All good, honestly," Sam replied and nodded to himself. Dean could still see some tiny twinges of pain in his features, but there was also a lightness that hadn't been present for the past few weeks, so he didn't doubt Sam was telling the truth on that.

"I'll have to bake a cake, I'll come over and we'll celebrate the New Year together," Jody chuckled.

Dean and Sam looked at each other at almost the exact same time. "New Year's is tomorrow?" Dean asked, a bit in disbelief. Sure, he'd been pretty out of it and hadn't quite gotten the days straight yet, but he didn't think it would sneak up on them so fast.

"Today is December 31st, so yes, tomorrow would be the start of the new calendar year," Cas affirmed from the back.

It took a moment, probably because he was processing as well, but eventually Sam was the next to speak up. "Don't set off too many fireworks."

"Yeah, tell that to the drunk kids I'll be dealing with later," Jody muttered, relief still there behind her words. "You boys drive safe, you hear? And house arrest for a week, give me some time to catch my breath, alright?"

Dean smirked to himself. A week to get things back in order? Maybe his memories would be in a line by then, and if not, he'd be much better off than he was now. Billie probably wouldn't be pissed if they took a week to get back to normal. Hell, if she was, she could always just pop up and tell them so herself.

"You got it Jody. And thanks," Dean added after a second.

"No need for it, but you're welcome." She was definitely smiling, he could practically picture it. "And thanks for keepin' me in the loop, Cas."

In the backseat still holding the phone between them all, Cas nodded. "It wasn't a problem, Jody. It's good to have you to talk to," he said, echoing what they had all been thinking.

They said a few short goodbyes, Cas clicked the phone off, and then returned it to his pocket, leaving them to drive the rest of the way back to the bunker in comfortable silence.

* * *

Dean was pretty sure he had never been as happy to see the bunker before. Maybe he'd find out later, but for now, there was nothing better than pulling into the garage and letting the doors shut behind them, effectively closing them off from the rest of the world and protecting them back in their home.

"Shower then some sort of food?" Dean suggested as he got the duffels from the back, ignoring Sam's half-hearted annoyed look when Dean grabbed both of them.

Sam eventually nodded along with it. "Not sure what we have left though, we could go on a run later?"

"Freezer stocked?" Sam only shrugged. "Am I the only one that keeps track of the kitchen?"

It dropped between them, not heavy like a stone or ugly like a reminder that Dean wasn't back to normal, but welcome like a promise that things were getting better. Dean didn't even know _how_ he would know that, besides having always instinctually been more in charge of the foodstuffs. There weren't any specific memories associated with what he had said, just a general feeling, like slipping back into a jacket he knew fit just right.

"Pretty much. You say I move stuff too much." And damn it, the smile on Sam's face meant he had observed the exact same thing Dean had for the past two seconds, and Cas too, going by the fond look on the angel's face.

"You probably do," Dean bantered back. Oh yeah, Sam definitely did.

"I could go get some supplies while you two get settled? It wouldn't be any trouble," Cas suggested, and a look exchanged between the brothers solidified that.

"Thanks, man," Dean smirked, and shouldered the two duffels. Cas mentioned something offhand about the signal on his phone and if Sam could take a look at it, to which he agreed and promised he'd be in to get cleaned up in a few. Dean just shrugged, leaving them to their tech-talk, and walked from the garage back into the main area of the bunker.

He set the duffels on the map table in the main room, they'd unpack them later, it wasn't like there was anything pressing them to do it at that very moment. Dean didn't hear Sam's footsteps immediately following, so he took a few moments to himself, just to listen to the hum of the bunker, the slight metallic pings when something in the air shifted, the general steadiness of it all. It settled him in a way that it hadn't before.

After so many years of waiting for the other shoe to drop, was it really stupid to hope that maybe just this once, enough of them had dropped that they could slip by with just this one? Only time would tell.

Dean made his way back to his room, and fairly quickly got off the clothes that still smelled like sterile hospital. The smoky, singed clothes he had brought in wearing were in some trash can in a small town. It was a shame too, he'd liked the flannel, but he still had a stockpile of plenty others to make up for it.

Sam's footfalls eventually made their way past Dean's cracked open door and into the room across the hall, and something in Dean's chest relaxed.

The shower felt great, as expected, and so did the sweatpants and Henley he found himself in short after. Hey, he was fresh out of the hospital, he could be as comfortable as he freaking wanted. He was seated on the edge of his bed, toweling off his still damp hair, slightly lighter than normal, as if too hard a push would break down the seemingly improving facade, when there was a tap at his door.

"Yeah?" he called, and dropped his hands and the towel into his lap. Sam pushed the door open a second later, wearing attire similar to Dean's own, hair still wet from his own shower. "Think your hair would turn all Einstein-ey if you did this enough?" Dean teased as he went back to toweling it off.

"Not about to try," Sam smirked just a bit back, but it faded rather quickly and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Not much else screamed 'little brother with something on his mind' more than that.

"You feelin' alright?" Dean asked, just to make sure, and let the towel drop to the bed beside him.

"Hm? Yeah, fine," Sam said, almost dismissively, and Dean waved a hand for him to continue. With a sigh, Sam reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, and pulled something out, keeping it in a closed fist before he spoke again. "They took it off you when we got in, didn't want the metal interfering with any of the machines they kept running you through, and gave it to Cas," he uncurled his fingers and there sat the little gold amulet on its black leather string, "he thought you may want it back, said I should probably be the one to pass it along."

Dean just stared at it in silence. He'd been worried it had been lost in the fire or the rubble along the way, and since he'd gotten up, he hadn't had a chance to actually ask about it. But there it was, safe and sound back where it belonged.

"Dean?" And hell, if it wasn't just the tiniest bit unsure that Dean could pick up on.

"Of course I want it back, Sammy," he assured, and just like that with the nickname added onto the end, the trepidation evaporated off Sam's shoulders and he took a few steps into the room to pass it off to Dean. He didn't ask if Dean was sure or not, he just handed it over, no more questions asked.

Dean rubbed his fingers over the charm for a moment before he slipped the cord over his head and the weight once again settled over his chest. How he'd ever gotten used to not having it, he didn't know, and supposed he never quite did even after all the years.

"Back to normal," he announced, and stood up from the bed.

Sam just let out a breathy laugh and ducked his head ever so slightly. "Yeah."

"We're getting there, we will get there," he waited until Sam had turned his gaze back up to continue, "I have faith," he added, no amount of wavering in his voice.

If he couldn't have faith in a reaper that literally dealt with the souls and lives that they weren't out there to save at the moment making good on their deal, then Dean didn't know what else to have faith in that would make more sense. For now, it looked like Sam didn't totally get it, but once Dean explained more in detail, he'd probably be totally on board. However, the small quirk of a smile was enough of a step in the right direction.

Dean took two steps forward before he really contemplated what he was doing, arms wrapping up around Sam's gigantic sasquatch shoulders and pulling him down. As always, Sam followed suit, arms tightening around Dean's back. It had been a long few days, few weeks, hell, even few months. And to be in a place where maybe things would get back to their usual flavor of the week messed up, that was something they both knew they could handle.

The slight rumble through the bunker announcing that the heavy garage door had been slid open was their cue to break apart, and Dean clapped Sam on the back and smiled as he did so. "Let's go see what the cat dragged in," he smirked, and jerked his head towards the door, content when he heard Sam's footsteps following his.

* * *

"The store clerk informed me that this was a decent substitute for the traditional celebratory alcoholic beverage, is it not? Especially since you two just got out of a hospital, it is not wise to mix alcohol and whatever medications are lingering in your systems."

He kept looking back and forth between Dean and Sam, the former of which was chuckling and shaking his head, and the latter of whom was trying to remedy the situation.

"Is it not suitable?" the angel questioned, still lost.

"No, Cas, it's perfectly fine, thanks for thinking of it," Sam replied honestly, casting Dean a look.

"It's just…sparkling apple cider man, I mean…have we _ever_ had this stuff?" Dean asked, turning the bottle over in his hands.

"A few times? Not really sure," Sam admitted. It wasn't like he kept track of every single drink they'd ever consumed. That list would probably run for miles considering all the bars they'd frequented even before they were legal.

"First, second, third time for everything, right?" Dean smirked at Sam, who rolled his eyes, before he unscrewed the cap. If Sam didn't know better he'd say Dean almost looked disappointed that there wasn't a literal top to pop off, but hey, they'd take what they could get. "This is great though Cas, thanks," he did eventually add. The confusion on the angel's face fell, replaced by an easy smile at again having been slightly messed with, happy he hadn't made another mistake in regards to food and strange human conventions.

Sam got out a few glasses, and Dean poured the cider, handing a glass to Cas, even if it was 'just for show' between the three of them, maybe it would help Cas feel more included.

"You ever seen the ball drop?" Dean asked curiously after he had taken a few sips and was leaning back against the counter.

Cas thought for a moment before he shook his head. "I am aware of the custom and the large gathering in New York, but I haven't witnessed it."

"We haven't even seen it in years, we're usually…preoccupied with something," Sam shrugged, just in case Dean didn't remember those little details quite yet. It had only been a day, it would just take more time.

"Well," Dean picked up the cider bottle, "I say we remedy that. Nothing rings in a new year like a colorful glass ball and thousands of people freezing together to watch it happen, right?"

Sam let out a good-natured sigh. "If that's how you want to phrase it, sure." They all followed each other out of the kitchen into Dean's room with the television, bringing in an extra chair with them.

New York was an hour ahead of them, so technically it wasn't quite the new year yet, but after the day they'd had, an extra hour of staying up to officially watch the clocks turn over may have been a bit much. It wasn't hard for Dean to find the channel, most of the news stations were covering it to a degree, and all three of them settled in to watch the festivities.

There were a few singers, not that any of them really knew who was parading around on stage. Dean asked out loud if they'd ever get a rock band to change it up one year, and while he was optimistic that eventually it could happen, Sam just laughed and shook his head. Everyone in the crowds looked absolutely freezing, making them all glad to be home in their comfortable bunker. And it was just that, comfortable, for all of them for the first time in probably a long time.

"And you're sure we don't have any noise makers or little streamer things?" Dean checked for the third time as the two minute 'warning' started counting down the seconds.

"I don't think the British Men of Letters were really into celebrating with colorful streamers, and no, I'm not looking in storage right now, the ball's about to drop," Sam repeated.

"For a group of catalogers, and from what I've seen going through the storage and archives, nothing there would represent a classic celebratory streamer," Cas added, though his eyes were transfixed on the screen. Dean nudged Sam and gestured with his head to look at the angel, who seemed almost entranced watching so many people and colors in one place all coming together to celebrate the same universal starting over of the calendar year. It was endearing, really, the slight smile on Cas' face, not that they'd ever tell him that though.

"When it gets down to ten you gotta count out loud," Dean instructed as the final minute began ticking away, and downed the rest of his drink.

As with the rest of the strange human customs, Cas only nodded, both curious and eager to be able to participate. Sure enough, when it got down to ten, the three of them began counting down, and none of them could keep the smiles off their faces.

"Three, two, one…happy new year!"

The ball finished its descent, the streamers exploded in the sky over thousands of people, and music blared over the crowded New York City streets. The new year had officially begun.

And in a little underground bunker in Lebanon Kansas, Sam, Dean, and Castiel celebrated its arrival and the hopeful new beginnings it would bring.

* * *

 _A/N: Apologies if this chapter has editing mistakes, I didn't get to go over it as I normally do. I also didn't get a chance to send out review replies, and for that I too apologize, just know that I really, really appreciate all the comments and love this story has_ _received_ _(almost 200 reviews wow) and I'll do my best to reply to the ones that come up for this chapter. Thank you so much._

 _I live in southern California, and after a shooting in our city Wednesday night just miles from my school, we were evacuated late Thursday night due to the fires spreading through the area. Our house and city are still in the mandatory evacuation area, and we have been staying with family outside the increasing evacuation zone for the past few days. Over 250,000 people have been affected, it's crazy. As far as we know, our house is safe so far, but the news has been on 24/7. Hotspots from embers pop up frequently, so nothing is ever certain. Both northern and southern California are burning, but the firefighters and first responders are doing an incredible job. I apologize if this brings anyone down, I just thought you should know, I was only able to get wifi this morning to finally post this with all the 503 errors the site has been having. The story isn't over, even though the chapter may seem like it, but I'm not sure when the next update will be. I'm supposed to go back to university tomorrow, so there will be an adjustment and a catch-up period emotionally and academically for sure. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, good thoughts for the whole state of California would be appreciated, and I hope everyone's next week goes better than this past one 3_


	40. Chapter 40

_And we're back! If anyone's still around, I can't thank you enough for still being here even with this insane update schedule. First things first, my family, our direct friends, and our belongings are safe. All the hills around us are burned, and there are a few structures some streets down and across that were lost from the embers and high winds. Friends of friends lost homes, and a town on Northern California is gone, but the first responders from multiple states did an incredible job given what they were up against. We're alright, and I am so thankful for that. I am incredibly thankful for all the messages I got, I will admit that I kept them in my inbox whenever I was in need of a smile, and they helped pick me up on some bad days._

 _I didn't write at all in November, I wasn't in the mental space to. December brought finals and I got sicker for two weeks than I've ever been in my whole life. Factor in some writer's block, and here we are, two and a half months later._

 _I mean it, this story will be finished eventually. I have an ending in mind, it's just a matter of moving the story there. I'm headed to the Las Vegas convention this year (if anyone else is going let me know!), and I'm aiming to have the story done before then, in about two months, since there isn't that much left to go._

 _Apologies for the long A/N, I felt some stuff needed to be cleared up. Again, thank you all for reading and for your patience, and I hope your 2019 has gone well so far._

 _I don't own Supernatural. (But the most recent episode? WOW. Favorite of the season so far.)_

* * *

That night, when he finally managed to fall asleep, Dean dreamt of fireworks. It was a memory he had retained throughout the whole ordeal, and the smile on both his and Sam's faces continued to be a comfort. Of course, since pleasant dreams never came with the job, the crackles of colorful light soon turned into blasts from shotguns and nondescript angels and demons being lit up as they were taken down.

Dean woke with a start, hands fisted so tightly into the sheets that they ached when he uncurled his fingers. Billie didn't promise that the process of regaining his memories would be fun, but still.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to flick through some of the images he had seen. A few things popped into his head, each flash of light accompanied with the sound of a shotgun going off; Cas smiting a whole bunch of demons outside some facility, Dean himself with a redhead at the end of a crude knife in his hand.

 _Abbadon,_ his mind supplied. Even without the context or the full understanding, a few things at random had slipped back into place where they once belonged. Billie also hadn't said they'd come back in chronological order, which was super helpful, as if his brain needed any more scrambling and piecing together.

But even minus the context, his left hand had come up to absently rub at his right forearm, where the mark of Cain had been in his other memory fragments. Which made the crude blade the actual First Blade and Abbadon the attempted queen bitch of hell. Good to know.

He didn't know whether to feel proud he had been able to get a few things straight, or still thrown off by the lack of context, but Dean figured floating somewhere in the middle wouldn't hurt anyone. So he hoped.

Still, it was a reasonable time to get up, so he got out of bed and put some socks on (cement floors in winter in Kansas were cold after all), but paused before he actually left. By muscle memory, he reached into the bottom cabinet of his dresser and pulled out a gray robe, "the dead guy robe", his brain handily supplied for him.

Dean smirked to himself and shrugged before he put the robe on and finished his walk into the kitchen. How exactly he remembered the robe he didn't know; there wasn't a specific memory that was triggered, he just _knew._ Oh yeah, that would be easy to explain when the time came.

Sam was already in the kitchen, two steps ahead of him where coffee was concerned. And while he didn't ask about Dean's robe, the sight of his brother in it made him grin and shake his head.

* * *

The next few days passed in much of a similar state. Dean would wake up after his brain had thrown some sort of new information at him, he sat for a few minutes to process it, and then went about his morning. It was nothing like the nightmares he had gotten after hell, or the more generic ones that had plagued him pretty much his whole life.

These were more unsettling, in a variety of different ways. It served as a reminder to how much he had lost, how much he still had to gain back, and how he would sort through it all. It was like trying to put books back on a shelf in alphabetical order by author without knowing who all the authors were. Sam would probably be pretty proud of his metaphor, but in a way it helped Dean try to visualize what made so little sense in his own head.

Sometimes Sam would ask, sometimes not, but whenever he did, Dean would talk about what he could. He owed Sam that much. They settled into some form of a routine, the three of them, checking in on a few cases and calling up hunters that may be in the area to swing by. Of course, they also called Jody and Donna to assure them that things were actually going alright.

Dean was making Mexican food on a night in the middle of the week, Sam and Cas sat at the table with a laptop and a book open, respectively, when Dean grabbed a bag of chips.

"Marshmallow nachos? I mean, really, Sam?" Dean asked, shaking some from the bag into the bowl. He didn't even register it for a moment until the keys on the computer stopped clacking. It was another one of those things that just naturally popped up.

He turned around to see Sam looking at him over the laptop screen, and Cas glancing between the two of them before he too settled on Dean.

Sam eventually shrugged. "Sweet and…salty? I don't know man, I was a kid," he said with a smirk on his face.

"Yeah, a strange kid. They do make salted caramel for that very purpose, you know," Dean pointed at him with a spatula and went back to stirring the beans.

Sam let out a breathy chuckle at that, and from the corner of his eye Dean could see him shake his head.

"From what I understand of Mexican and Spanish culture, marshmallows are not the typical choice of addition to chips," Cas brought up, apparently trying to understand what was going unsaid between the two Winchesters, who were starting to be brought back together again by their shared memories.

Sam then launched into a tale involving not so imaginary friends, to which Dean interjected "freakin' rainbow suspenders," while listening in. It all felt familiar, and the actual images were right at the edge of the fogged up window in his head. The longer Sam kept talking, the more it helped the memories to come back.

By the time the food was done and the stories were over, the three of them had launched into a discussion as to if mermaids, imaginary or not, were technically real creatures.

* * *

Of course, it only took a few more days before an unsettling dream slash memory slash whatever turned into an actual nightmare. And no, he had not missed those. He especially had not missed the ones involving his family.

This time it revolved around Lisa and Ben, but they were still family all the same, as Bobby had once said.

He woke up in a sheen of sweat, seeing the demon inside Lisa turn the blade on herself. Ben's terrified face. Asking Cas to wipe their memories (there was irony somewhere in there if Dean would have looked hard enough, which he didn't). Talking to them one last time. Leaving them in that hospital, none the wiser. The hole in his chest.

He processed and processed and processed, as best he could, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he had been wrong, leaving them defenseless when some monsters out there had to know the Braedons had been connected to the Winchesters.

Lisa, dead on the couch, and Ben dead in his bed. Both from another set of nightmares, but they flashed through his head all the same.

Sam said they were fine, he had to trust that.

And he did. But he wasn't getting back to sleep, and Dean figured he may as well try to figure out for himself.

He didn't really care what time it was, but five minutes later he was sitting down at a table in the library with a laptop and a cup of coffee. He opened it, turned it on, and wracked his brain for a solid minute about the last house Lisa had been in. The one he had moved them to.

Battle Creek, Michigan. As long as they hadn't moved, Dean was hoping he could pull up some information from the local news about them. He did some quick mental math, finger counting included, and if he was right, Ben was in his senior year of high school. If he still played baseball, he'd probably be pretty good.

There were so many if's, but he didn't know where else to start looking. Basic street address maybe? If the baseball didn't pan out, he'd search that up.

Dean took a swig of his coffee and entered Ben's name, baseball, and 'high school' into the search engine. Half a second later, a multitude of sites came up, all listing various local papers, and a few from the high school's paper itself, about the baseball program. He clicked on the first article that came up, even though it was from the previous year.

His shaking fingers scrolled down the trackpad until he landed on a photo of the team in its entirety, players listed below it. But Dean didn't need the name listing to pick Ben out. He was standing in the second row up, hat and uniform on like the rest of the group, wearing a smirk all his own.

Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and went back a page and clicked on an article from the end of the previous school year. Apparently Ben had been named one of the MVP's, along with two seniors, and short interviews from the school awards ceremony with each player and their parents had been transcribed as part of the article.

He skipped down to the short paragraph, reading through Ben's words about how he was grateful to have been chosen and be on a team with his closest friends. Dean was smiling sadly to himself, and his fingers stopped moving on the trackpad when the article mentioned his mom, Lisa Braedon, and how proud she was that all the hard work Ben had put in had been recognized and celebrated.

There was his proof, right there in black and white text, with a colored picture a few clicks away.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a relief to reaffirm that they were alright. But then again, the whole off-ness of the situation was highlighted on the older features on the kid Dean had once taken to earlier baseball lessons. Again, it just came back like it had always been there, and something about it took the sting away from the situation he found himself in.

It was still unsettling and thirty-one different kinds of messed up, but it wasn't as present.

Dean still had the laptop open and was sitting with his chin resting on his hand as he stared absently at the article in front of him. He didn't notice Sam coming into the room until he actually appeared in Dean's peripheral vision, pushing some sleep-mussed hair out of his face. Probably because it was still close to four in the morning, yeah Dean himself should probably still be sleeping.

Dean turned his head to see Sam appear more alert when he noticed Dean's position around the laptop.

"Too early to say good morning?" Dean tried with a smirk and took a drink of his now cold coffee, which wasn't very appealing.

"Depends." Sam shrugged it off and parked himself in the library chair across from Dean at the table. "What's up?" It was clear that things weren't necessarily okay, and Dean was glad he hadn't phrased it that way. He'd heard that question enough times for the rest of his life, thank you very much.

Dean sighed and dropped his hand. They had agreed, there was no point in lying through this. No blowing it off as a case or simple 'can't sleep', that wouldn't do anyone any good.

"In these, not sure what to call them…resurfacings?" he made a face, "Lisa and Ben came up. What happened to them, I got it back, like it never left."

"All of it?"

Dean nodded in reply, and Sam's face fell. "I won't break your nose if it's any consolation." The look itself said Sam didn't really care about that part of it. "Just wanted to see if they were okay. And I know you said you checked into it and it's not because I don't believe you or anything-"

"You don't need to explain, Dean, really it's alright," Sam gently cut him off mid-ramble, and there was nothing but understanding and a bit of sadness in his eyes. "What did you find?"

If it was possible, Dean quirked a small and almost proud smile as he turned the laptop towards Sam. "Ben made MVP on the baseball team at his school."

He watched as Sam scrolled through the article and smiled as he landed on the picture and little interviews below it. "He's done good," Sam nodded back and turned the laptop around to Dean again.

"Yeah, all things considered." Dean took one last look before he closed the device and toyed with his coffee cup.

Sam eyed him for a few moments, probably knowing exactly where his head was at. Damn, that kid could still read him like a book, especially while his defenses were down. "Dean, what happened to them, you were involved but it wasn't your fault. And you did everything you possibly could. Ben's on that team because you made a choice nobody should ever have to make, and you did it to protect them," he tried to assure. "It probably has protected them."

And Dean knew he was right. "It's just…with this timeline mess in my head," he shook it, and Sam made no move to ask anything else, just gave Dean his space. "I still feel it, but it's already…I don't know, in the rearview mirror? Right back where it was."

"So things are settling?" Sam asked after a pause, since there were no words to really describe the situation and trying to come up with any sometimes took a moment.

Dean nodded slightly, and then responded with a muttered, "more or less."

Sam eyed him for a moment, as if debating whether or not to go ahead with his next sentence. "But you're still not sleeping so great." It wasn't a question, but a soft statement, a fact that was known between the both of them.

"Did we ever to begin with?" He waved off Sam's raised eyebrows in a patented 'really?' expression. "I'm tired, Sam, of this mess in my head, not knowing where things fit or when."

Sam leaned forward a little against the table. "It'll get better, Dean."

"I know. Process just sucks." Dean took another swig of his coffee and rubbed his thumb along the slightly chipped handle, half expecting another remark from Sam. When that didn't happen, he raised his eyes back up to find Sam staring blankly at the table, thinking about something. He looked back to Dean, and it only took a split second for the older Winchester to realize the desperation and a certain degree of lostness in his brother's eyes.

He was doing everything in his power to help Dean, and had been throughout the whole process, but for the entire ordeal he hadn't been able to do much other than be a listening and reassuring ear. In a world where they were used to fixing the problems themselves and looking for immediate solutions, not being able to find one was probably a type of hell all its own. Dean knew about that firsthand, in a general sense, but also in a more specific sense that he couldn't quite yet hold on to. One day it would come back, he just had to bank on that.

But what Sam had done, and Cas too, the unwavering support no matter what, it had helped, and it was currently still helping. Dean knew they were doing their best, hell, more than their best, and that was all and more than anyone could ever ask for.

It was pretty much the only way Sam could feel like he was actually helping, and in a rare (though it had become more common in recent weeks given his world literally falling apart at the seams) moment of accepting help, Dean opened his mouth instead of Sam.

"Ya know," he cleared his throat, which made Sam immediately look up, "I was wondering if maybe you could clear something up?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

And there it was, the light in Sam's eyes, the promise of maybe being able to help fix something. "Name the puzzle."

Abbadon was big, Dean could wait for a few more memories to pop up before he asked about that. He figured starting hopefully small may be better. "What happened to Meg? We were on a hill watching as Cas blew apart some demons in front of a facility, but that's as up to date as I know."

Sam listened intently and nodded along, trying to figure out where to start putting the pieces back into place. Eventually he seemed to have settled on a decent starting point, and started explaining. The longer he talked, the more images flitted past Dean's eyes and into their proper place in his mental bookshelf. He probably couldn't recall them all perfectly at the moment, but he could feel that they were there.

Besides, listening to Sam explain it all was much more preferable to waking up before dawn trying to figure it out by himself. Progress, right? That was what mattered.

* * *

 _As I mentioned above, there's not too much story left to tell, at least I feel, without getting too redundant. But if anyone has any specific scenes they'd like to dredge up from poor Dean's mind, let me know and maybe I can work them in ;) it is a h/c and angst story, after all._


	41. Chapter 41

_Factor in two weeks of bronchitis with a lab report and here we are! Still aiming to get this done by the end of March, there's one or two more chapters and then an epilogue left to go. This chapter cuts off a bit, but no worries, it'll be continued in the next installment. I got a few questions about the timeline for this story, it's set in season 12 (mainly because the brothers were actually in a decent, understanding, same page spot for once) just minus Mary and the problematic BMoL._

 _Everyone's support and well wishes on the last chapter continued to blow me away, thank you all so, so much for making my day with your feedback, it really does matter and made a difference (almost 200 reviews, when did that happen?) To the two guests that I can't directly reply to, truly, thank you for the reassurances. For those of you that suggested some memories, I'll do my best to see if the story heads in a direction that will let me include them. Thanks to jham768 for inspiring a bit of this chapter and to ThornsHaveRoses for being my sounding board on some of it ;) I know, snow stuff may be a bit out of character, but it made me happy to write them smiling a little after causing them so much pain. Hopefully you all enjoy!_

 _Still don't own SPN. Still waiting for it to come back from hiatus because the 300th episode and the three before it left me an emotional mess._

* * *

Dean had a bad night.

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Okay, so maybe genius wasn't the right word, but it certainly didn't escape the already over-worried brother and angel that were residing in the same location.

A few days had come and gone since their talk about Lisa and Ben and Sam filling in a few of the blanks. Sam had honestly hoped that talking about it would let Dean's mind stop doing the hard work at digging up everything in his sleep. And apparently it had worked, but only for a few nights.

Dean hadn't been shouting in his sleep per say, but it was more than groaning, enough to bounce off the bunker's walls and through to Sam's room where he already had his ears tuned for something out of the ordinary. He got up to check it out, of course, and edged open Dean's door silently. Dean was definitely in the throws of a nightmare, hands fisted into the blankets at his sides, not unlike the one that had closed around Sam's lungs. But he wasn't yelling anymore.

Sam waited another moment, debating on whether or not to risk waking Dean up and getting a knife at his throat or an embarrassed brother looking back at him (he didn't know which was worse). Thankfully, Dean's hands finally lessened their rock solid grip and his shoulders sagged against the pillows.

So yeah, no way in hell Sam was falling back asleep after that. He scrubbed a hand over his face and went into the kitchen instead and a quick glance at his watch on the way there showed it wasn't necessarily too early to be making coffee.

He wasn't surprised to see Cas sitting at the table in the kitchen either, eyes raised expectantly when Sam entered. Sam wasn't the only one that was worried, after all.

"Is Dean alright?" Cas asked, not beating around the bush, but keeping his voice down, apparently aware of the fact that Dean was still sleeping.

Sam shrugged a shoulder. He wasn't exactly sure how to classify alright anymore. As long as one of them wasn't possessed, bleeding out, or in some massively precarious or world ending scenario, then they were probably doing relatively fine.

"Yeah, just a nightmare. Common thing," he explained and went to the cupboard to get some coffee…which they were apparently out of. Great.

"Not common on this degree though."

Sam turned around to see Cas looking back at him, understanding wholly and completely, and he couldn't help but shake his head. "Not like this, no."

"You wish there were something more you could do," Cas said as Sam turned back towards the cabinets. He didn't have to see the angel's expression to know that he was speaking for the both of them.

"Of course." He busied himself by getting out a few tea bags and setting them inside the cups while he waited for the water to heat up. "But we're doing everything we can, we know it, and Dean does too," Sam leveled his eyes with Cas, "and that's all any of us can do. Just…ride it out, I guess."

Cas sighed and nodded. "I suppose."

They lapsed into silence as Sam got them both cups of tea and came to sit down at the table across from Cas and slid him one. There were some slight snippets of conversation that floated back and forth between the cool walls of the kitchen, but nothing substantial that wasn't tinged with worry.

The remaining tea was long cold when Dean finally wandered in, scrubbing at his eyes as he so often did. "Mornin'," he muttered, "doesn't smell like coffee yet," he added and paused.

"We ran out, I'll have to go pick up more," Sam explained. It was just a bit entertaining that Dean immediately became more awake at the fact that there was no coffee to really do the waking up part. Still, even with the pseudo-awakeness, Dean looked beat and haunted, though he was doing his best to not appear so.

"Dude, seriously?"

"Wasn't me," Sam raised his hands in defense.

"Sure, of course it wasn't you," Dean muttered back as he went over to the fridge. In all honesty, Sam didn't know if it was him or not, but he doubted Dean was keeping track of it. And besides, a bit of bickering over coffee in the morning was just about as normal as they would ever get in a time like this.

"I could go to the store and purchase some if you two would like to make breakfast?" Cas eventually pitched, seeing as how the discussion was at a stalemate and apparently even he knew how much the two hunters would need their coffee.

Dean closed the fridge door and looked up at Cas over a carton of eggs and then back to Sam, as if checking with him.

"Sure, yeah, knock yourself out," he waved at him with the eggs, "just not, ya know, literally."

"I am familiar with that form of speech, Dean," Cas reminded in his monotone voice as he stood up from the table, waited a few seconds, and strode out of the kitchen towards the library and the garage.

"Thanks, Cas!" Sam shouted after him through the bunker, which again fell into silence, broken only as Dean cracked an eggshell over a bowl.

Then there was a sigh, which Sam hadn't been expecting. "So?" came Dean's gruff voice.

"So…?" Sam trailed off, unsure what the one word question meant. He wasn't about to press Dean for what had happened this early, he'd see if anything came up later. His brother did still deserve his privacy, after all, and he understood if some things couldn't really be shared.

"You gonna help me with breakfast or not?"

It was an olive branch. Dean knew that Sam knew he hadn't slept well, one look in Sam's direction could tell Dean that his little brother was worried, and rightly so. Not talking yet, but an offer to do something constructive together. That Sam could work with.

Sam stood up and went to put his and Cas's cups in the sink. "You can't get mad at me if the peppers aren't cut the exact same size."

"Dude, that was one time," Dean's voice raised up a little bit at the end.

Sam was about to say twice, he did in fact keep track of stupid stuff like that if only to use in situations like this, but he stopped himself. Dean remembered the one time inherently, but not the other. Still, one they could work with. Small victories, right?

"Well then don't make it two."

Dean muttered a fond 'whatever' and tossed Sam a pepper he had next to him on the cutting board. Sam, of course, caught it, and smirked before he started cutting it into decent sized chunks. He did also check with Dean a few times to make sure they were in fact the correct size, which had his older brother gesturing mock-angrily with a spatula at him.

Like everything else recently, it was all tinged with a sense that something wasn't quite right, but it was good nonetheless. It was a productive distraction, which they had both been working with their whole lives. And besides, for two hunters, they didn't make bad cheese and pepper omelettes. Dean went a bit heavier on the cheese, but not that Sam said anything.

They were just starting to clean up, having lulled into a few short, comfortable conversations while they were eating, when Cas finally arrived.

"Was beginning to think you got lost," Dean mentioned when Cas walked into the kitchen with a few bags. He passed Sam a plate to dry off before he turned to the angel.

"I know my way around the city," Cas reminded, "I and the rest of the inhabitants were slowed down by the weather."

Sam looked at him curiously, towel stilling over the plate he was drying. "What sort of weather?" They hadn't been outside in a few days and seeing as the bunker was, well, a bunker, it was lacking in windows.

"A few inches of snow fell overnight and more is continuing to fall. The weather reports said it was a 'snap'," he used finger quotations, "and that it should be over in just a few days."

"Get the snowballs in while you can," Dean replied. A few days of snow wasn't unusual, but it never really stuck around long enough to be a problem or provide some modicum of winter enjoyment.

Sam put the dry plate away and took another from Dean as he watched Cas, who still hadn't said anything else and was more staring off into space, as if contemplating.

"You should go out and make a snow angel!" Dean piped up a moment later with a proud grin on his face as he looked to Sam for approval.

Sam let out a breathy chuckle and shook his head.

Cas appeared like he was trying to understand, but didn't. "I am aware of typical human traditions of making men out of snow and throwing snowballs, but a snow angel? Perhaps you could show me?"

And damnit, Sam couldn't tell if Cas was joking or not, but he sounded earnest and serious enough, and to Dean's credit he kept a confused smile on his face.

"What, you mean right now?"

"The weather never lasts like this, Dean, when else would we do it?" Sam suggested with a shrug and put the final dry plate on the counter. Dean turned his eyes back to Sam as a _really?_ look crossed his face.

"Three grown dudes making snow angels for the hell of it? Seriously?"

"Who's around to see us?" Sam raised his hands a little and asked. "Think of it as an…an educational experience for Cas."

Cas was nodding along with what Sam said. "I am curious. A small break from the bunker would be good too, especially seeing as how the snow won't last."

Dean kept looking back and forth between the two of them, both of whom were set on the new course of action for the following hour or so before he threw up his hands and left the dish towel on the sink. "Fine, whatever. But if I get a friggin' cold after this I'm blaming you two," he pointed a finger at both of them.

But there was no heat behind the words to melt the snow, they could all tell. Dean stalked off to his room to get changed for colder weather, leaving Sam and Cas in the kitchen.

"A break would do him some good," Sam said quietly with a small nod, to which Cas agreed. Especially after the night Dean had, and the rest he hadn't.

"It will. And I doubt he won't at least somewhat enjoy it," Cas agreed.

Everyone in agreement, Sam took Cas back to his room to get him an extra coat just in case, even though he insisted that angels didn't exactly get cold. They'd all been in worse temperatures before with higher stakes, but there was no sense in not playing it safe with everything else going on.

They met up a few minutes later, boots and an extra few layers on before they clambered out of the bunker and onto the small, slightly wooded hillside by the factory.

Sam had to admit, even a few inches of snow really transformed the landscape. The typical fallen leaves and twigs were hidden under a blanket of white. Even though the sun was poking through some of the clouds, the snow was still falling and their breath fogged up in front of them.

Dean took a few steps ahead, tested something, and sat down in the snow.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Cas asked, his face morphed in confusion. Dean lay back in the snow, moved his arms and legs a few times, and popped back up like nothing had happened.

The whole sight made Sam laugh, more internally than externally, he didn't want any remote chance of embarrassing Dean of course, not when they all needed the break. The stuff they taught Cas didn't usually involve snow and children's activities though. Still, it lessened something in Sam to see his brother smiling as he pointed to the faint shape in the snow and explained how it was a snow angel.

"See? The arms with the," he made a 'fwooshing' sound, "kinda like wings, right?"

"I…suppose," Cas said after a moment, and both Sam and Dean urged him to try, since it was his idea after all to come and check out the snow.

Sam laughed out loud along with Dean when Cas completed the steps in almost robotic order and stood back up with snow hanging off the jacket's arms. The shape was actually pretty good for a first attempt, even though Cas kept trying to assure them that his real wings were in fact much larger.

Even though he tried to avoid it, Sam was eventually forced to make his own snow angel, which Dean laughed at him for and Sam just rolled his eyes at. "Sasquatch making a snow angel," Dean joked in-between laughs as Sam got back up.

When he did, he noticed that the smile didn't quite reach his brother's eyes, like it just wasn't powerful enough to pull down whatever nightmare he'd remembered and pull him back down to the real world. But he was trying, maybe even a bit desperate for a distraction, and if Sam could do anything, he'd give him one.

"We done?" he asked and brushed snow off his jacket before Dean pulled out his phone and took a picture.

"Jody'll get a crack out of this," Dean explained and put the device back into his pocket.

Sam just shook his head, amused, and turned his attention to Cas, who had his neck craned almost wistfully to look at the snow flurrying lightly around them. It was cold but also peaceful and beautiful, and it was obvious that the fact wasn't lost on the angel.

Both brothers gave him a moment, appreciating the environment themselves, before Cas turned his attention back to earth. "I believe making men out of snow is also a common custom?" Sam and Dean nodded and a few minutes later they had rolled a decent amount of snow into a ball on the ground, and considering it hadn't exactly snowed a metric ton, they did alright.

Dean explained how the balls got smaller as they got higher, typically three in all. Sam helped, but mostly watched as Dean kept busy and described the mechanics of 'perfect snowman building'. It wasn't like they had years worth of experience or anything, but two or so snowmen built in their lives was still more than Cas.

Dean kept tinkering with the snowman, like he so often did with the car when he needed a distraction, scraping off and adding snow, and picking up little pebbles they could use for buttons. It was only when he walked a few steps away to grab some sticks for arms that he looked between the wood and Sam and paused.

"You know, we also need a nose. I think I saw some carrots back in the kitchen, Cas would you mind grabbing one?" It sounded casual enough, and would be good for getting part of the actual job done.

Cas looked between the two of them and nodded. Years with the Winchesters had taught him a lot, and he understood some of the underlying meaning behind the action. So if he spent an extra few minutes looking for said carrot, no explanation would be needed.

The brothers watched until he disappeared around the small hill and back to the bunker, leaving them standing outside with just the slight breeze to keep them company. It was more than obvious that Dean had something on his mind, he'd had something on it all day, but Sam didn't bring up the subject. If Dean needed another minute to collect his thoughts on something, Sam wasn't about to rush him. Besides, the left side of the middle snowman portion was a bit uneven…

He reached for some snow and compacted it in his hands as Dean tore small strips off the tree branch in his hands.

But anything Sam had been expecting, a question about a memory, some general confusion, most everything they'd dealt with so far, completely went out the window at the two words that seemingly slipped from Dean's lips and settled between them like the new fallen snow.

"I'm sorry."

It was one of the faintest apologies Sam had ever heard, and if he hadn't been straining his ears to catch whatever Dean may or may not be saying, it may have been lost to the wind altogether.

The snow in Sam's hand was forgotten as he looked up to find Dean with his face twisted ever so slightly. It didn't look like he was immediately about to say more, but Dean knew what Sam would say. Something along the lines of he needed more than a blank to fill in, some context, something, sorry for what exactly? Dean knew, so Sam stayed silent and just watched and waited.

"When I said that it should've been you…not Charlie up there…" Dean trailed off, and Sam's blood chilled in his veins more than any amount of snow could do. "I mean, not that I'm glad it was her instead, just that, you know," he fumbled, and a portion of the stick snapped in his slightly shaking hands.

Sam's jaw was set and he nodded slowly. He'd had a lot of bad days in his life, and the one where they had to put Charlie on the pyre was high up there for a multitude of reasons. And just like everything else revolving around her death, they never really got the chance to talk it over between the Mark and Amara. But Sam got it, of course he did. There was no way in hell that Dean in his right mind, his big brother, his protector and his stone number one, would say something like that in bad blood.

Dean had opened his mouth to try and further explain, as if his message wasn't getting across enough, but Sam stopped him. "I know, Dean," he said softly, "and you don't need to apologize, not for that."

"No, Sam, what I said, it wasn't alright, you can't just blanket it and say it's fine." Dean's face had screwed into a disapproving frown, and Sam could only imagine the half formed thoughts going through his head with whatever context he had been given overnight.

"It's not alright," Sam agreed and quickly continued, "but it wasn't you. It was the Mark and a really, really screwed up situation, between Charlie and the book and everything else," he shook his head. "You'd never say something like that, not when you were completely…you, of course I know that."

He could see Dean fighting not to scoff at that. Of course in his eyes, he probably felt like he'd failed at doing his one job, again, because he beat up people that said stuff like that about his brother. He wasn't supposed to be one of them.

"And I also know that as much as you may feel like you should, especially without the context, you shouldn't beat yourself up for something I forgave you when it happened." He was almost pleading with Dean, his voice dropped down to a quieter tone.

He didn't know if Dean had carried this around with him, this guilt for things he had said or done when he wasn't in his right mind but had never been able to articulate before. Sam didn't know if this was just the memories bringing it up or if the emotions and honest intentions to apologize and smooth things over had been there for years, in some cases. Knowing how he himself typically dealt with, or more often than not, didn't deal with situations like those in the past, it was probably the latter.


	42. Chapter 42

_So...life happened, sorry about the wait, but I wanted to get the epilogue done before posting this so I could give you all a definitive ending date and not keep you hanging in case something else should happen. I got swamped with school stuff (science major means lots of research papers, yay!) and a new job, and I hit a wall with the story. The March deadline flew by, good intentions, am I right? My biggest fear has always been making it too repetitive, and it got to me. So I stopped and reread the entire thing, which gave me an idea for a solid half of this chapter. (Extra thanks to ThornsHaveRoses for a few ideas, you rock ;)_

 _This is the last official chapter. The epilogue, which is a substantial thing in itself, will be posted Sunday I promise, as a celebration of my freshman year of college being done, my birthday, and having worked almost exactly for two years on this story (I started writing it in June 2017). All this being said, thank you all so much for sticking with this, I know I say this a ton, but I can't say anything else, because it really does mean a lot to me. Hopefully you like where everything's gone :)_

 _I don't own the show, obviously, and wow I haven't posted since the announcement was made, it's been a while. I'll still be writing stories of course after the show ends, don't fret. Exact dates included in this were based on some superwiki research because that site it amazing. References made belong to their respective owners._

* * *

Sam was watching his brother carefully, hoping for some sign that what he was arguing had started to settle in. Of course, Dean was fairly stubborn, especially when self-blame was involved, and this situation made things ten times worse. He saw the gears in Dean's head turning as he looked anywhere but Sam; the sticks he kept fumbling with in his hands, the light dusting of snow under and on his shoes, anything. But at least he was thinking it through, not outrightly denying that it wasn't his fault, which Sam counted as a win.

"Is there something else?" he asked eventually. He left it open, Dean could either come forward and say what was eating at him or say no and leave their conversation at that. Sam didn't know what the true answer to the question was, but he found himself almost hoping nothing else had been dredged up.

"Those few days just all kinda," Dean made a motion with his free hand towards his head. "Lot to process."

Sam nodded slowly. So there was more, he should've expected, but Dean was trying to stick to their 'help me help you' agreement, which he hadn't been overly hopeful about but was glad that it had turned for the better.

"I mean, between Charlie and the Stynes and beating Cas within an inch of his life," he made a face with that and his hand reflexively curled around what was left of the stick in his grasp, "everything with Death," he added with a scoff and finally threw the wood to the ground. "I wasn't possessed or cursed or soulless," _which apparently he had remembered_ , Sam decided to file away, "it was me, just…twisted."

"Twisted you isn't you, Dean," Sam reminded. Maybe with enough repetition it would finally bust down some of Dean's walls, throw a ladder of rationality and belief over the top of the mountain of self-blame. "Those few days, what the Mark made you do, it wasn't you. When Cas gets back he'll say the exact same thing."

Dean cast his eyes up at that.

Sam pushed a hand through his hair. "A few weeks ago you literally pulled me from a fire. Again. You saved lives. You help people, countless before the Mark and during and after, and it's not stopping any time soon. You're playing wounded and still trying to make sure other people survive. That's the only you that matters."

His unrelenting faith in his big brother had both gotten them into and out of some tough spots, but more often than not it was a positive to any situation they were in. He just had to get Dean to see that even with the Mark, even with the people they'd lost over the years, it still added up to a lot more good than bad. Years…

Something clicked in his mind, something he hadn't been sure he'd even show Dean, but maybe, just maybe, it could be the final piece of the puzzle. Dean must have seen something in his face change because suddenly he was much more focused.

"What? You just had a total lightbulb moment," he said and eyed Sam carefully.

Sam nodded. It was an apt description at least. "Kinda, yeah, I'll show you when we get back to the bunker. Until then…" he trailed off, noticing Cas coming back through the snow with a decent sized carrot in his hand. He seemed almost relieved that both brothers appeared to be alright, for any worry that had been on his features melted off.

"I believe this should function well," Cas held the carrot out for inspection, and after Dean agreed that it would work, the angel nodded. "If perhaps we had a magic hat, we could bring it to life."

He said it with such a serious face that Sam had to let out a breathy laugh that puffed clouds into the air around him.

Dean, on the other hand, looked at him almost incredulously, but the corner of his mouth was turned upwards into a smirk. "Are you seriously referring to Frosty? Like the singing, dancing, frozen cartoon?"

"I thought the reference would be well received, as you especially tend to refer to many things," Cas replied.

Dean looked between him and Sam, apparently lost on something but amused all the same. "Speaking of, when did you become all pop culture savvy? It's like -"

"Like Jack Sparrow," Cas finished for him, which had Sam chuckling again.

Dean paused, fitting the pieces together. "…no. Kinda. Whatever. See like that, how do you know that?"

They were still dealing with memory gaps, but at least it was something small that had just been overlooked. Cas filled Dean in as they put the finishing touches on the snowman. While the mention of Metatron's name threatened to take the lightness out of the moment, it was a relief that Dean mostly recalled the angel that had caused them so many problems over the past few years. Sam was learning to live with the small victories, at least.

Their conversation eventually lulled as they took a step back to admire their creation. So maybe it was a bit lopsided, but for two hunters and an angel, who had maybe made three snowmen between them as experience, it was a decent attempt. Again, Dean took a photo to send to Jody later, and then the three of them were trudging back inside to find something to warm them up.

* * *

After hot chocolate had been served and frozen pizza heated and eaten, the three of them went their separate ways. Cas headed to the library, Sam to his room, and Dean to his, still wondering what the hell Sam had meant when he said he needed to show him something. Maybe it would wait until morning?

Dean pulled out a chapter book he had been reading over the passing week; he did read from time to time and especially now that they had some free time and it helped focus his mind when it got overactive. It had probably been Sam's at some point, but he wasn't really sure and made a mental note to ask later. It didn't have a crease across the spine, not yet at least, since Dean tended to bend the pages back, which Sam always mentioned was bad for the books considering he kept his in pristine condition, so yeah, probably his.

He was propped up on pillows under his stomach and arms, lying across the bed to read, when not thirty minutes after they had parted, Sam tapped on his door and came in. When Dean craned his head to look at his brother, he saw that he had a small flash drive in his hand.

"What's that for?" he asked, though he was pretty sure it was 'the thing' Sam had his lightbulb moment about. Dean rearranged himself so he was sitting and earmarked the page while Sam pulled Dean's laptop off his desk. He even looked the slightest bit annoyed that Dean would earmark a book, figured, definitely Sam's then, for sure.

"What I mentioned I'd show you," Sam filled in with very vague detail. He sat on the edge of the bed, stuck in the flash drive, and booted up the computer.

Dean watched as Sam opened up the drive and then some sort of a word document. "You want me to read a manuscript or something you wrote?" he looked at Sam, not following.

"More along the lines of 'or something'," Sam handed off the computer, but remained stationed on the bed. Dean just took a cursory first glance, and what immediately popped out at him were dates spread out across the page. And every page after that when he scrolled down. All from the years he had been missing.

When he looked back up, Sam was pretty interested in the bedspread. "When you first got the diagnosis, we didn't…we didn't know how bad it would be," he started to explain, "so I put down as much as I could onto paper in hopes that if it were needed, it could help. The good, the bad, everything. And I know that you've mostly got it back now, but if there's any blanks that need filling in, or…reassurances to be had, they may be here." He finally raised his eyes to look at Dean.

"I mean, I would've done it before, but seeing what things triggered certain memories, I didn't want to dump this on you and send you into a spiral of our worst hits. I didn't want to make a bad thing worse, if I could help it," he added in a quicker explanation.

"You don't have to explain, Sam," Dean assured first and foremost. He understood, of course, about Sam's train of thought, especially knowing personally how much of a mess his memories and the triggers had been. "Just, why now?" He broached it as an honest question, not an accusation, and Sam sighed.

"You're still walking around with the world on your shoulders, you always have. This," Sam lightly tapped the computer, "has the bad, but it also has the good. The people we helped, the ones I could remember anyways, just in case you don't yet."

It was essentially a book of truths, but also of reassurances. It was pages and pages long, and Dean absently wondered how long it had taken Sam to type it all out and when he had done it. Dean was stuck wondering if he should say thanks or not, but Sam beat him to it.

"Let me know if you need anything, alright?" he said as he slowly stood up. Dean was left mostly nodding to himself, but he stopped his brother before he made it all the way to the door.

"Sammy?"

Sam paused in the doorway and looked back. If Dean didn't know better, which he did, he'd say Sam almost looked nervous at having given Dean the document. "Thanks," he added in a genuine tone. And just like that, any nervousness that had been stiffening up Sam's frame melted away. He gave a half smirk and turned the rest of the way out of Dean's room, mission accomplished.

Dean, on the other hand, got himself into a more comfortable position on the bed with the laptop and scrolled back up to the top. He actually had to take a breath to make sure his heart would keep functioning. Yeah, who was nervous now? Lucky and unlucky for him, the first date was one he already knew by heart.

May 13, 2010.

It was the day Sam had jumped into the pit. The day that up until a few weeks ago, was the last one he remembered in absolute, heart wrenching clarity. It had faded just a bit as he got the rest of his memories back, like a book that was slowly being pushed to the bottom of a stack. But it was still there, always there, and it would never take long to pull back up.

At a first glance, he noticed that there was no explanation under the date like there appeared to be for some others. So Sam had written this sometime after they knew where his amnesia started. They had a definitive start date and Sam had worked forwards from there. There were a few dates after that, each with a few sentences about some memorable people they had saved or events that had happened.

But the next big chunk didn't start until January 2011. Sam had titled it 'When I got my soul back'. Dean remembered most of the events surrounding it, but what had been put onto the paper wasn't something Dean would have known before.

 _I woke up in the panic room, completely confused, but like always, finding you put the pieces back together. Strange that then I didn't remember anything from the past year and a half (though I eventually would), and now here we are, me filling you in about the past seven years._

More people they saved, that time Cas almost broke the world when he thought he was doing right, Sam's downward spiral…

 _September 2011: I cut my hand and you turned it into a reminder that you're my stone number one that I can build on. Everything we've been through since that, everything we've said and done and seen, even though sometimes it may not have seemed like it, I never doubted it. And I swear that I'll be it for you in whatever comes next for us._

Dean had a ghost of a smile on his face at that. It directly mirrored some of the recent conversations they'd had, Sam had really taken it to heart, and it had made a difference.

 _January 2012: Everything goes here, everything I can remember at least. But if there are a few things I can hope get fuzzed over in your head when you eventually get your memories back, it's this. Not in its entirety, but the rawness of it._

 _We lost Bobby. Dick Roman, aptly named, shot him in the head and there was nothing we could do. Nothing. And I know how being powerless screws with my head, and yours especially. He came back as a ghost and helped out. It started to go bad, but not too bad, and he got the peace he deserved, I promise._

 _May 2012: We met Charlie. You were pretty much instantly connected to her, and me too, and it was hard not to be. She was a good person, a sister almost, eventually, and she helped us take down Roman in ways no other person could._

 _May 15, 2012: You and Cas got sent to Purgatory, not that I knew that at the time. I wish I had more information, but you'll have to remember most of what happened there on your own. It…wasn't our best year. But when you came back, we've both come back from the dead before, but there's nothing else like it. I know we had our fights after, but that doesn't mean I wasn't ever grateful to have you back, and still am._

 _May 21, 2013: You convinced me not to board up hell at the expense of my own life. You got me stuck with an angel without my permission, but you meant well. That doesn't erase how pissed or hurt I was in the months after, which I think to some degree you understood, and I understand now why you did it. I wouldn't give up an opportunity to save you, not if I knew that something could be done. Not if I had an inkling that I could change anything._

 _October 2013: We saved Alex. It may not have seemed big at the time, but she_ _'s become a part of Jody's life, and a part of our pseudo-extended family. She's better off because we were there to help, and she's made something of her life after that, which means something. It's not every day we get to know that the people we saved do okay afterwards._

 _December 2013: We lost Kevin._

There was no more explanation after that note. Just reading those three words stung. Dean remembered more feelings than the actual memory of the event, but it was enough to go on. The utter helplessness and rage were telling enough of how bad things had gotten.

 _January 2014: You got saddled with the Mark. Went a bit behind my back to do it, too, not that I blame you, we weren't on the best of terms. Still, if I had known all the pain it would bring in the year to come, I would've done a lot of things differently._

 _May 2014: You died. Probably a bit redundant, but it still happened. Metatron got to you before I could. Of course, the Mark didn_ _'t let go, and you walked out of the bunker a demon, not that I knew that until it was too late either._

 _But for the record, I_ _'m proud of us too._

 _August 3, 2014: Cas and I got you back. We can get into details later, but for this purpose, that_ _'s the only thing that really matters._

 _May 2015: Charlie was killed._

 _June 2015: I spread some pictures on the floor, got punched, and eventually you killed Death. You made him Mexican food as a peace offering beforehand so he would agree to sacrifice you for the good of the world._ _You killed him. The Death, the horseman. You broke through whatever was going on in your head and swung the scythe at him and not me. I would've taken the hit, knowing what it would accomplish, but having you back after that, even with Amara let out…after over a year of dealing with the Mark, nothing compares to that._

 _May 2016: You found the amulet I rescued from the trash years ago. We also found God, which turned out to be_ _…surprising._

 _Then, just days after, you offered yourself up as a soul train to take a bomb to Amara to save the world but doom yourself in the process. We said goodbye standing over mom_ _'s grave and I honestly thought that after everything, that could be it. Would've been poetic at least. But you talked your way past her and saved the day. You made it, and the world's grateful for it even if they'll never know._

 _A few days later you found me, like you always do._

 _November 11, 2016: The plane went down, and for the second time in just a few months I thought I_ _'d never see you again. No graveyards or impending apocalypses or a world that needed saving. Nothing supernatural, even. No immediate sign that I should've given a more meaningful goodbye or told you to drive safe or convinced you that the meeting wasn't worth going to at all._

 _Now: I_ _'m sitting in a coffee shop, you're in a hospital bed, and we're both trying to process, just to different degrees. From the few words you got out, you probably don't remember any of this, which is why I'm writing it down. So that when you do remember, you can have something to fill in some of the little details._

 _We_ _'ve dealt with worse than this, if the last seven years are any indication, and we'll all get through it. None of us are going anywhere, no matter how many times I have to remind you that you're a good person and that no, you didn't dream the musical, it actually happened._

It was as close to an 'I love you' as a Winchester would ever get, all spread out across ten or so pages spanning just a fifth or so of their time together.

Dean had to take a few moments to make sure he could actually compose himself in the face of all the information. He did remember most of it, but some of the little nuances he had missed, and reading it in Sam's own words put a whole other layer on it altogether. The good and the bad, just as he'd promised, though the good was definitely highlighted. Sam was nothing if not persuasive where his brother was concerned.

As soon as he was a hundred percent sure his brain wasn't about to go into overdrive, Dean left his room and went to find Sam. He found him on his own bed watching something on his laptop that had been propped up on the chair. He was only half focused on it though, for when Dean came in, his attention immediately shifted over. He didn't say anything, but a glance was enough to try and determine if Dean was okay with what he had just read.

And in all honesty, he was.

So he shoved Sam's legs out of the way and when his brother smirked, Dean scooted onto the bed next to him and trained his eyes on what he was watching. "Dude, seriously?"

"What?"

"You don't get enough of this from our day job?" he motioned to the screen, where three guys were headed up some narrow, crazily sloping stairs in a room that had low ceilings. Of course, it was night and they were decked out in top of the line ghost hunting equipment. Still, Dean smirked when one of them got 'pushed backwards'. The overacting gave it away. That and the fact that if it had really been a pissed off spirit, they would've been thrown _over_ the banister. Dean knew that from experience.

Sam was watching him, not that Dean cared. "It's entertaining, alright?" he halfheartedly defended. But when he went back to watching, he looked more amused too, likely thinking the same thing Dean was. If the place was really haunted, those guys would have left their boxes and lights behind and have been running for the hills. Nothing a solid iron poker didn't fix though.

The episode ended and Netflix started the next one, but neither brother made a move to get up.

The world could try to end as many times as it wanted on as big of a scale as it wanted, be it God-level or inside Dean's own head.

But no, they weren't going anywhere.


	43. Epilogue

_So here we are. Welcome to the end. I'll try to keep this A/N short. I've never written a story this long over this length of time, and it's a bit bittersweet to know that we've reached the end. It's something that over the past six months especially I've really had to chip away at to get going. And most of what I was able to do was because of you guys, the silent readers, the commenters, the people that I've had some great discussions with, everyone that's interacted with this story in some fashion, thank you. Whether you've been here since the beginning, or somewhere in the middle, or now, or read this long after it's finished, just know that I truly, honestly appreciate you taking the time to do so. It means the world to me. I've looked back over the comments on this story so many times when writer's block had me down, and they never cease to make me smile. If anyone wants to leave one, short or long, about the whole thing or the ending or something else, I'd of course love to read it and thank you in advance :)_

 _Cutting this off before it gets too long or sappy here, no chick-flick moments, right? This one is done, but don't fear, I've got some more stuff coming down the pipeline, some demon Dean stuff, some episodic stuff, some outsider stuff, I'm planning on writing a lot this summer, so I'll be around._

 _Back to this story. Songs I listened to a ton while writing and partially inspired some parts it if anyone is interested: "Ghosts That We Knew" - Mumford & Sons; "I Will" - Matchbox Twenty; "Boxes" - Goo Goo Dolls._

 _Lyrics belong to their respective owners. This epilogue ties into 12x06, Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, no real spoilers, and anything recognizable belongs to the show itself. One last time: thank you and I hope you enjoy._

* * *

 _So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light_

 _'Cause oh that gave me such a fright_

 _But I will hold as long as you like_

 _Just promise me we'll be alright_

 _"Ghosts That We Knew" - Mumford & Sons_

* * *

It was two weeks later that the brothers and Cas went their separate ways for the first time in a few months. They had found a probable werewolf case in Texas, and with no other hunters nearby, Cas offered to take care of it. Sam would have backed him up, but the same day, Dean got wind of a nasty ghost case in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It had made the local news and then some a few towns over, since it seemed to be straight out of a horror movie.

Parents, two young kids, new house, something evil inside. Knives had been flung into walls, a few of the windows exploded, the doors locked by themselves, the whole nine yards. It was their job description, and Dean enjoyed annoying Sam with the Ghostbusters theme whenever he got the chance. Nasty or not, they had to get back on the horse sometime, even after how the last one had ended. Cas headed for Texas and Sam and Dean went northwest, since they had more experience with ghost cases, and Cas usually fared better against something corporeal.

The drive went fine and thankfully so did the hunt, which was a rarity they were both extremely grateful for. Unlike last time, the ghost they got rid of was the one causing the problems, and things went back to normal with just one thing set on fire, not two. The family would be moving, but they were alright and out of danger, which was what mattered. Of course, the Winchesters didn't get out without some cuts and bruises, but nothing warranting more than a slight motel room triage, which was good by them.

There was ice from the small machine put up against Dean's cheek and butterfly bandages affixed to Sam's forehead, but the night, well, morning when they got in, ended peacefully and they caught a few hours of sleep before the sun actually rose.

They were packing up their motel room later that morning when Dean got a call from Jody asking if they knew a hunter named Asa Fox.

Of course they did, wendigo legends didn't die easy, and they left soon after to pick up Jody before continuing on that trajectory. She had insisted that she could meet them there, but Dean had insisted back that Sioux Falls was basically on the way anyways and that really, it was no trouble. When Sam suggested that they could use the car ride to catch up, Jody couldn't say no.

"And you're sure this is a good idea?" Sam checked for the tenth time in the past two hours as the Impala ate up miles beneath them. Dean's fingers were lightly drumming to one of the cassettes he had in the tape player and he nodded along to the music.

"Baby steps to get back into the world, right? We took on a hunt, that went fine, now we need to take on the hunters," he cast Sam a glance and smirked slightly. "Meet some people, catch up, see what's been going on. Couldn't hurt," Dean added with a shrug.

Sam was still watching him carefully, not in a way that didn't convey trust, but in one that just honestly wanted to make sure that Dean would be alright with their next course of action. They hadn't exactly been out among other hunters in a while, though they had been doing research and sending a few cases out from the bunker.

A ghost had been a good place to start, though, for them to get back out in the field. Billie hadn't popped up with any warnings, so Dean assumed the pace and progress they were making was acceptable for all parties involved.

They picked up Jody the next day, who was happy to see them despite the circumstances. Dean returned her tight hug with one of his own and they spent the majority of the car ride in some sort of conversation. They had things to catch up on since they had last seen each other over Christmas, of course, even though they'd been in contact since their last almost failed ghost case.

"So, honestly," Jody piped up once things had lulled for a minute. Sam turned in his seat to acknowledge her better while Dean inclined his head. "All three of you made snow angels?"

Sam let out a breathy laugh at that and nodded.

"Two guys that saved the world and an angel made more angels," she chuckled, "what I would have given to see you guys trying to pull that off."

"Sam was like a turtle. Put him on his back, he can't get back up." His laugh was cut off by a slight over exaggerated 'ow' and rubbing at his arm after Sam gave him a warning hit. There was no heat in his eyes, of course. Despite having just finished a hunt and being on the way to a funeral, Dean would say Sam looked relaxed if he didn't know better. But he did know better.

The ease in his shoulders, the slight smile on his face as he looked between Dean, Jody, and the open road, it was more than just relaxed. It was relief. That they were all together, that the world wasn't ending, that things were looking up, dealer's choice. But it had been a long time since Dean had seen that look on his brother's face. So if he snuck glances at it time and again while driving, sue him, as if it didn't put him more at ease too.

"The snowman," Dean added, "was Cas's genius plan, so you have him to thank for that work of art."

Jody actually looked a bit surprised at that, but happy nonetheless. "I'll be sure to mention it to Claire, she'll get a kick out of it."

They kept to lighter topics for the remainder of the drive, but Jody got a bit quieter once they crossed the border and she gave them directions to the house itself. Dean didn't ask how she knew Asa, it wasn't his place, but based on her reaction and how long he'd known her, they had probably been close, at least for a time.

Dean could hear the rock music blaring from the house as he pulled in along with numerous other cars. Seemed a lot of hunters knew or knew of Asa. For the first time on the whole journey, something akin to nervousness twisted in Dean's gut. He hadn't been around that many people since everything happened, and especially not hunters. But a house full of them? Still, they were there to support Jody and get back to life as normal, so he stomped on the nervous flames until they were nothing but smoldering embers, still present, but not threatening to set his facade on fire.

Jody walked a few paces ahead and Sam glanced over at Dean, another silent 'you good?' written on his features. Dean gave an almost imperceptible nod and followed Jody into the house.

Inside it was just as he had expected. Maybe thirty or so hunters were dotted around the house, talking and swapping stories over a beer or two or three. It didn't fit the typical description of a wake or a funeral, but then again, hunters weren't just ordinary people.

Jody introduced them in passing to Asa's mom, who she then followed to another part of the house, leaving the brothers standing in the foyer, looking just a bit out of place. But if they knew how to do anything it was blend in with the flick of a switch.

"You wanna grab us a few beers?" Sam suggested, turning his gaze from a pair or people on one of the sofas to look at Dean, who shrugged.

They split off and Dean followed the loudest noises to the kitchen, where a group of hunters were sitting around a table sharing stories. He heard mentions of a few ghosts as he got closer to the room, but it wasn't until he was actually inside, bending down to get a beer, amulet swinging in front of his face as he did so, that he actually caught the tail end of what they were saying.

"…nasty one too, made the papers. I was gonna head over, but damn, they're fast."

"Well hey, props to them getting back out there."

"But seriously? I mean, a plane crash, then amnesia, and boom here he is months later taking out ghosts in where was it, Colorado? Like nothing happened? Is the guy even human?"

Now that completely caught Dean's attention. He knew Sam and Jody has gotten the word out, and he, Sam, and Cas had been sending some cases to other hunters, but telling stories about _him_? He didn't know whether to be creeped out or flattered. But from the tones of their voices, he was thinking more the latter.

He slowly turned around, dangling a beer bottle from his fingers, and surveyed the group of three guys and one woman. "Actually, it was Wyoming," he corrected with a smirk.

It took a second for the hunters to catch what he had said, and when they did, they each blinked a few times. It was almost comical, really.

"You're him," one of the guys with a reddish beard said, "Dean freakin' Winchester."

Dean cocked his head just a bit. "In the flesh." The guy stood up and stuck out a hand for Dean to shake, introducing himself as Bucky Sims, fellow hunter.

"Dude, aren't you dead, like four times over?" one of the others commented, still looking at him with just a bit of impressed awe in his features.

"Yeah, it uh, didn't really take," Dean smiled ever so slightly. No matter how hard the universe tried, he was still there, up and kicking. The guys were literally looking at him as if he were a celebrity, and sure, he and Sam had saved some people, but reactions like this were totally out of the normal for what he was used to. It was appreciation for a job well done instead of confusion, fear, or disgust at trying to explain to people what went bump in the night. Still, it was almost entertaining, and his muscles began to relax.

The guys asked a few more questions, which weren't too intrusive, which Dean appreciated, and when he mentioned a monster someone else picked up on it and told their own stories. It was like a round table of their greatest hits. And Dean was content with just listening and nodding along, but eventually he joined in too.

When he did open his mouth to share a few stories, all eyes were on him like he were a kindergarten teacher reading the most interesting picture book ever to the class. He still had some time to go before things returned to their complete respective normals, but in that moment, he felt more normal than he had in a long time. It was good to be back, even surrounded by strangers that were more familiar with him than he was with them. They all had a common goal, one that they could appreciate between each other, and saving lives and telling crazy stories was highlighted above whatever missteps they may have made along the way.

When Dean eventually excused himself to bring Sam that beer he'd promised, everyone at the table still looked at him the same way. Mutual respect and just a twinge of awe. And Dean found he was alright with that. After all, if people told a few more stories about his and Sam's badassery following this encounter, maybe that was the one good thing to come out of the whole ordeal.

He noticed Sam having a conversation with the young man and woman that had been on the couch earlier and slipped away to look at the rest of the house. In a room that appeared to be a study, he fiddled around with an angel blade in a glass case, half surprised to find out that it appeared to be real. But still, five wendigos in a night? Really? If people believed all the stories about he and his brother coming back to life though…maybe five wendigos wasn't so unimaginable.

"Hey," Sam greeted, having found Dean in the study, and paused to wait for Dean to look at him before he said anything else. "Did you know people told stories about us?"

Ah, so apparently Sam had gotten the same treatment Dean himself had. What next, star on the Hollywood walk of fame? Just the thought had Dean smirking and nodding his head. "Walked in on them regaling the tale of the ghost we just took out in light of our recent situation. Apparently we're a bit legendary," he added with just a touch of pride in his voice.

Sam caught onto it too and some of the amused disbelief faded from his features. After nearly a decade and half of following in the family business, some stories were bound to get told.

"Think we should see if they want any autographs?" Dean pitched, which elicited a chuckle from Sam.

"On what?"

Dean thought about it for a second. "Gun barrel. Or a…duffle bag or something, not sure how much they could resell it for though since we're both officially dead a few times over."

Sam's light laughs echoed through the room encompassing them, somewhat removed from the bustling noise of the rest of the house.

"That's a lot of stories to tell," he nodded with a slight smile stuck to his face.

"That it is. In a few weeks we'll have some new ones, the grind never stops." Dean took a drink from his beer bottle and returned the angel blade to its frame. He clapped Sam on the shoulder as he passed by, his little brother following in his footsteps as they went to rejoin the rest of the hunters.

Yes, there were more stories to be told and remembered. Tens, maybe hundreds, depending on how long their luck lasted.

Stories of Sam Winchester: the boy king, Lucifer's vessel, who put the devil back in the box at the cost of his own life and saved hundreds of others, and even the world itself, in the years after he was released. Who nearly lost his life to send every demon back to hell and gave up a normal life of his own to ensure that ordinary people got to keep theirs.

Stories of Dean Winchester: the Michael sword, the soldier who followed his father's orders but made a name for himself all the same, whose fearless devotion to his family and the people he saved would go down in history. Who took on the Mark, destroyed a knight of hell, and walked the Earth as a demon, only to save it by convincing God's own sister that mending fences was better than burning them down.

Stories of the Winchesters and their ability to almost break the world before righting it again better than before. Whose legacy would live on in the hundreds of people they saved no matter the consequences and the stories that would be passed down of the selfless, driven hunters, and their black Impala that raced across the states like a dark steed carrying her heroes toward the never-ending battleground.

 _The End_


End file.
